Phoenix Feathers
by Camillo
Summary: Healer Granger is fed up with her boyfriend and miffed that her friends have been having lots more fun than her. If she can't beat 'em, she may as well join 'em. Written before Deathly Hallows release, AU SSHG, Q2P and OWL humour award winner 2007.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: not mine, not even a particularly original homage, not for profit, not a good thing to be doing instead of the work I should be concentrating on.

**This story was written before Deathly Hallows was released and is therefore now officially very AU.** I hope that the presence of a few characters that aren't very common in newer SSHG fics might be entertaining but please be aware that all the characters will seem OOC in the light of more recent reading! In addition, Gamp's Law of Elemental Transfiguration, of which there are five exceptions (one being that food, and therefore presumably drinks other than water, cannot be produced out of thin air) puts a bit of a dent in one of the major magical premises of this fic.

Thanks to LariLee for advice given after my very first attempt to submit a piece of fanfiction to a moderated archive. Huge thanks to Shiv5468 for subsequent hand-holding, and to my beta Melusin.

**Chapter 1: No Bubble Bath at the End of a Hard Day.**

A swish of pink pastel curtain heralded Healer Granger's entrance to Cubicle Four. She cocked her head to one side and regarded the pale, sweaty face of a man standing awkwardly beside a neatly made hospital bed. He gulped, twitched ever-so-slightly but remained silent. After an uncomfortably pregnant pause, during which time the man twitched three more times, Hermione smirked and raised her left eyebrow.

'Okay, Mr Poppleford, what is it?' asked Hermione.

'I-I beg your pardon?' croaked Twitching Man.

'By my estimate, you've been waiting in this cubicle for half an hour, but you haven't sat down,' stated Hermione dryly. 'This means you are here because of one of two things. Either you have a case of haemorrhoids the size of a nicely ripe bunch of Pinot grapes, or you have something that shouldn't _ever_ be in your rectum, in your rectum.'

Twitching Man winced. Then he twitched. Then he sighed and bowed his head. 'It was all right to begin with, but now it really hurts,' he whispered.

'That may well be the case,' snapped Hermione. 'I've been on shift for fifteen hours of what was supposed to be a twelve hour shift, so all I really want to know is which suction charm to use. You can be shy and make me hang around in this hospital even longer than I have to, or you can tell me quickly, and I'll consider giving you a muscle relaxing potion before I start.'

'A Snitch!' Twitching Man immediately responded.

Hermione let her right eyebrow join its companion. Then her features relaxed into a glowing smile. She Summoned a phial of blue potion with a flick of her wand and handed it to the grateful Snitch-twitcher.

'Excellent, Mr Poppleford! You've just won me fifty Galleons in the monthly, "Who's the first healer to have a patient with something-up-their-arse," pool,' said Hermione. 'Now, remove your robes and bend over.'

* * *

While preparing to Apparate from the St Mungo's reception area, Hermione thought longingly of a Radox bubble bath (there were some Muggle things a girl just was not willing to forego), a nice plate of pasta and a foot-massage. On arrival at the Flat, she realised that these things were unlikely to be experienced any time soon. A diving Seamus Finnegan missed Hermione by half an inch, caught a Quaffle that for some reason had flown across the sitting room, and cannoned into the wall.

'Oh, good _catch_!' exclaimed two voices.

Hermione sighed heavily and turned to face an inanely giggling Ron Weasley and a cross-eyed Dean Thomas. One glance encompassed the dirty socks on the coffee table, the Firewhisky and Butterbeer bottles on the floor and the Chinese takeaway cartons that balanced precariously on every available surface. A drip of black bean sauce happily departed the rim of one carton and made a skilful landing on a huge leather-bound textbook that had been moved from the coffee table to the floor at some point in the last fifteen and a half hours.

As Ron had welcomed Hermione home in a remarkably similar manner on at least seventy percent of Friday nights during the previous year, she was not astonished. She had, however, fucking well had enough of the useless _twatting_ slob that she was going out with.

It took eight minutes to pack a suitcase with clothes, toiletries, four Georgette Heyer novels, the Scourgified medical textbook and a bag containing fifty Galleons. It took 0.23 seconds to Apparate (in a flouncy manner) to a rather nice cottage on the outskirts of Godric's Hollow.

No one came to answer the front door, which puzzled Hermione because light was shining from a couple of windows. After a minute of thought, she put down her suitcase, drew her wand and quietly made her way round the side of the cottage. The garden was enclosed by a tall brick wall that was covered in honeysuckle. In the warm evening air, the scent was rather lovely, but Hermione's attention was focussed on the murmur of quiet conversation that drifted over the wall. Innate nosiness made Hermione cautious (sneaky), so she aimed her wand at the latch of the wooden gate that was set in the wall before her and silently opened it with a spell.

'As you can see, profits are up fifteen percent on the last quarter, and the introductory meetings in Paris went particularly well….Oh, bloody fuck! Potter, have you _no_ concept of security wards?'

Seven startled faces turned towards the opened gate. Hermione took one step forward and then stopped. Never had the phrase "double-take" been more appropriate. She found herself staring at the business end of five wands and heard someone muttering, 'Oh bugger, I've left my wand in the loo.'

'Don't get in a tizzy, Neville. I think we've got this covered,' drawled the owner of a perfect cut-glass, upper-class accent.

A quick peek told Hermione that Draco Malfoy owned the drawl while Ginny Potter, Nymphadora Tonks-Lupin, Remus Lupin and (_bloody hell!_) Severus Snape owned the other four wands.

'Hermione, please tell me Ron isn't with you,' came the familiar but strained tones of Harry Potter from the direction of a glowing barbeque.

'No, he bloody well is not!' Hermione squeaked. 'Would you put those wands down and tell me what the fuck is going on here?'

Harry puffed out a relieved sigh, making the legs of the sleeping baby he had tucked against his shoulder wobble to and fro. As one, the others collapsed back into their chairs and began to tuck their wands away into pockets and sleeves.

* * *

Having been hastily provided with a very comfy garden chair, a large glass of Sauvignon Blanc (expertly conjured by Draco) and a hot dog off the barbeque, Hermione wallowed muddily in the feeling that she had entered some sort of parallel universe. Harry disappeared to put the baby down, making optimistic comments about "sleeping right through" to Ginny on the way. Everyone else sorted themselves out with wine and food as though this was something they did on a regular basis. The crowning glory of weirdness came when Neville passed the mustard to Snape without being asked, receiving murmured thanks without blinking. Things had _definitely_ been going on without Hermione's knowledge, and the thought of being so completely out of the loop stung.

By the time Harry returned, Hermione had eaten two hotdogs and some tasty homemade coleslaw and was beginning to fidget with the need to ask questions. She took a giant slug of Sauvignon and fixed Harry with a determined gaze.

Harry swallowed and cleared his throat. 'So, why are you here then, Hermione?' he asked.

'I've decided to leave Ron, and I need a place to stay,' said Hermione, surprising herself because until that moment, she hadn't actually decided anything but had just… _flounced_ from London to Wales in an almighty huff.

'I'm really sorry, Ginny; I don't want to upset you by slagging off your brother, but I've had enough.'

Just saying the words out loud made Hermione's thoughts crystallise. She found the complete absence of panic disturbing; surely tears and soul-searching were _de rigueur_ in this situation? Then it crossed her mind that the end of a six year relationship should probably be discussed with Ron before it was announced to his best friend, little sister, former teachers and childhood nemesis. _Oops_.

'Feel free to slag,' Ginny said. 'I'm rude about him all the time, and to be honest we've been waiting for you two to crash and burn for a couple of years now.'

Murmurs of agreement from six comfy garden chairs startled Hermione into action. She glared at the group of supposed arch-enemies, who were sat around her munching barbeque food, and exploded. 'How bloody long have you lot been friendly?' she snapped. 'What else has been going on that _I_ idon't know about?'

Harry blushed faintly and met his friend's eyes with a frown. 'It gradually dawned on me that Stupefying a bloke when he's trying to save your life, refusing to learn from him, then blaming him for the resulting death of your godfather _and_ being furious when he won't try to kill you on request, is not entirely rational behaviour.'

'It was also drawn to my attention that if Voldemort threatened my Mum and Dad with a slow and painful death, I might have followed his orders – especially if they involved killing someone who never even lifted a finger to stop me getting a rather painful and embarrassing tattoo.'

To put it mildly, Hermione was a bit surprised at Harry's change of heart.

Draco Malfoy and Severus Snape had been hastily pardoned following a rather noisy meeting between Remus Lupin, Poppy Pomfrey and a furious Rufus Scrimgeour. Apparently, on the night that Draco let a bunch of crazy Death Eaters into Hogwarts, Dumbledore was half-dead from a Horcrux related curse and definitely on his way out after Harry had force fed him a nasty dose of poison. Unfortunately, the green sparks Snape managed to shoot in Dumbledore's direction while shouting 'Abracadabra!' caused the wildly hallucinating old man to overbalance and fall off the Astronomy Tower. Snape and Draco had made a necessarily sharp exit and ended up continuously feeding the Order of Phoenix intelligence, including some very handy Horcrux hunting tips that Remus passed off as his own research.

During the mayhem that followed Voldemort's downfall, Bellatrix and Rudolfus Lestrange and Fenrir Grayback did runner. Hermione knew that Harry, Neville, Remus, Tonks, Snape and Malfoy Junior were involved in the hunt for the insane-and-proud-of-it trio of Death Eaters. She had automatically assumed that they'd remained hostile, though. Hermione hadn't even heard of the two spies for four years; she thought they had probably gone overseas. Perhaps spending that particular year learning the ins and outs of sex with Ron had distracted her just a little bit…

'Severus and Draco live half a mile away from here, Hermione,' continued Harry. 'We got to know each other better after they were pardoned – while we were rounding up the Death Eaters who escaped after Voldemort died.'

'Don't think we've been having dinner parties the entire time, Granger,' drawled Draco. 'I still think Harry is a bit of a prat, but he did learn to be a good cook. And if Neville hadn't developed such an irresistible six-pack, I'd be impervious to his charms, too.'

Hermione choked on her wine; Neville blushed until he resembled the glowing barbeque charcoal while Snape's snort effortlessly conveyed contempt. Ginny merely smiled at Hermione before passing her a fresh napkin and slapping her on the back.

'We're not winning any popularity contests even though the Ministry cleared us and used our…unique skills set to round up the last of the Death Eaters,' Snape continued smoothly, once Hermione had cleared her airway and wiped her eyes.

'Potter, in his disgustingly decent way, thinks that we should have a fair shot at a normal life, if at all possible. We therefore run a Potions company: Harry and Draco provided the start-up costs. I brew the potions. Draco takes care of the paperwork and Ginny does the face-to-face sales meetings. We've been running for three years now, and you've just interrupted our half-year meeting.'

'If this is a business meeting, then why are you here?' asked Hermione, glaring at Neville, Tonks and Remus.

'One of our products is Wolfsbane Potion,' began Remus. 'I co-ordinate monthly orders and provide private counselling for newer cases and their families. I'm afraid Fenrir Grayback was a busy bastard during the last year of the war, and the year after that, but we charge an affordable amount, and most of the families are well able to cope. Dora keeps us up-to-date with opinions within the Ministry and deals with anyone who becomes interested in Potions manufacturers working out of Wales.'

'Aurors work very closely with the Obliviators; thanks to a spot of "job-shadowing", I'm better at altering memories than Gilderoy Lockhart ever was.' Tonks grinned unabashedly.

'I help out with ingredients,' added Neville. 'A lot of the work with plants is needed when Hogwarts is out for the summer, so I'm shoring up my pathetic teaching salary, and I get paid to travel and collect some of the more exotic stuff. As far as Minerva knows, I'm visiting my Gran and backpacking the whole time.'

'And keeping your tummy flat,' said Draco with a satisfied air.

Harry rolled his eyes at Hermione, but his lack of surprise or disgust told her that this joke had been running for a long, long time.

Hermione was seething internally. They all looked so bloody _happy_. She knew Harry and Ginny had subsided into affluent domestic bliss, far enough away from Molly Weasley's nagging. Although it was only a few days after a full moon, Remus looked well fed and well rested. Tonks was gently stroking the back of his neck with the contented smile of a woman who was having regular, wonderful sex. Neville had grown into a strapping man with broad shoulders and a year-round tan from tending the plants at Hogwarts as Herbology Professor, and apparently, regular foreign travel. Draco Malfoy had never been hard on the eye. He sat elegantly sipping chilled white wine, dressed in leather sandals, a lovely pair of linen trousers and a blue shirt that made his eyes the colour of a stormy sea. _Hmmmm, the man can dress_.

Even Snape appeared to have gained weight, washed his hair and been hit with a stray dental charm or two. Hermione watched him push his chair away from the table and stretch his long legs out. Light from the various candles that hung in the air over their heads glinted off ornate silver buckles on the side of his dragon-hide boots. The sleeves of Snape's linen shirt were rolled up, revealing well muscled forearms with ridiculously smooth, pale skin and a dusting of black hair. Noticing Hermione's thoughtful gaze, Snape raised an eyebrow in her direction. Hermione's thoughts yelped in response. _I am definitely dreaming; my hair is greasier than Snape's, and I'm sitting here wearing ridiculous lime-green scrubs while he looks…mmmm, rather nice, actually._

'I still don't understand why you couldn't tell me!' Hermione's voice approached a whine at terminal velocity. 'What's wrong with _me_?'

The strange collection of individuals before her either ducked their heads or strategically hid their grins behind hands and wineglasses. Hedgehog Hermione's soft tummy was bared. As always, when faced with unexpected information, brains, bossiness and bravado took to the hills, leaving insecurity exposed for all to see. By unspoken agreement, Ginny took up the conversation.

'Its not you that's the problem, honey. If you'd known, you would either have felt duty bound to tell Ron, or you would have let something slip by accident. He'd be bound to strop out and start raising hell with us and mouthing off to Mum. She would have told everyone she could possibly think of, and the whole idea would have been ruined faster than you can say, "My Mum is a loudmouthed busybody who can't let go of the past!" '

Hermione groaned, acknowledging that Ginny was absolutely right, and accepted a refilling charm from Draco. She sat back, moodily kicked off her trainers and tucked her feet up, contemplating life. The past five years had been spent immersed in successful medical training and failed Ron training. Newly qualified meant a salary (wicked!); it meant a fancy title (Healer Granger still sounded odd to her ears), but it also meant 60 hours a week minimum, and loads more learning. She had become isolated; Ron spent most of his time with his buddies from the Department of Magical Games and Sports while Harry had been having a wonderful time playing house-husband and having barbeques with his new best friends. A surge of pure envy shot through Hermione's system like adrenaline. When was she going to stop being so boring and lonely?

The wine was really nice, though, and the plate of cheesecake that Tonks passed her hit the spot. Lulled by the sound of bumble bees and the smell of honeysuckle, Hermione nodded off in her comfy garden chair, and the others left her alone while they finished their meeting.

At some point, somebody lifted the sleeping Hermione out of her chair and carried her inside to bed. She rolled her head against a linen-clad shoulder and mumbled, 'Suitcase…out front...' before inhaling a deep breath of spicy aftershave, sighing contentedly, and falling back to sleep.

Author's Notes:

1. Diagnosis of experimentation with an inanimate object through observation that the patient has been standing in a hospital cubicle for a long time, comes from season 1 of House (in that case the problem was caused by an MP3 player). I figured that tiny silver wings might cause curiosity, but that discomfort and low-level twitching was likely after a while – if not massive internal bleeding.

2. Radox is a well known brand of herbal bath salts and bubble baths in the UK, famous for soothing tired muscles. I don't know if it is available in the USA.


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: I'm either on the Sunday Times Rich List, or I'm knocking out this tale for some extra cash. That was an example of sarcasm.

Three cheers for Pimp Extraordinaire, Shiv5468 and another three for Pimp and Beta-of-Dreams, Melusin.

**Chapter 2: I could get used to this, if it weren't for the Shouting.**

Somewhere in the distance, a baby was wailing. Probably another gnome bite since people had been using their gardens more in the fine weather. If it was important, her wand would be paged. Hermione did what all good interns do and rolled over in an attempt to catch a minute of extra shut-eye. The bright sunlight that pierced the film of her eyelids was a bit odd, though; the on-call room was usually pitch dark, and it smelt of sweaty, tired Healer and bad breath – not coffee and frying bacon.

_Hmmmm, not at work, then._

The bedroom at the Flat was always dark. Hermione had obsessively blacked out the window with spells to make it easier to sleep through the day when working the night-shift.

_Hmmmm, not at the Flat, either._

Experimental blinking and raising of the head three inches did not result in the pulsing headache caused by a hangover. So, she hadn't crashed out at her mate Lucy's place after a post-shift drinking and whingeing session, either.

Memory kicked in, followed by annoyance at being kept out of things by Harry. Followed by smugness because she knew something Ron didn't. Something _really_ interesting. Mentally invoking the laugh of the Count from Sesame Street (_ah, ah, aaah_), Hermione sat up in bed and realised that it was sunny, she didn't have to go to work and she didn't have to make her own breakfast. Oh, frabjous day!

Why was she still dressed in scrubs, though? _Yuckety-yuck, not a good smell, or feeling. _Dimly, Hermione remembered nodding off in the Potters' garden and being carried to bed. _That_ had smelt of spice and man-not-Ron (the Count felt the need for an encore but got a bit mumbley when he thought about dirty hair, dirty scrubs and body odour).

A quick examination revealed towels in the en-suite, and a hastily packed suitcase on the floor at the end of the bed. Hermione had a shower (shampoo, intensive conditioner, shaving charm) and slid into her favourite denim shorts and a vest. Bare-footed and damp-headed, she pattered happily down the stairs, across the hall and into the Potter kitchen.

The Saviour of the Wizarding World gave Hermione a grin and a wink, nodded at a coffee pot, shoved a spoonful of breakfast into the baby, swivelled neatly and pointed his wand at the frying pan. Three plates were filled with eggs, bacon and tomatoes as though the spirit of Molly Weasley had possessed the kitchen. As the plates glided to a halt on the big scrubbed-pine table, Ginny slid into the kitchen, kissed her son and then her husband.

Nobody said a word except for encouraging baby Gideon to, "Have one more spoonful, Quaffle through the hoop… There's a good boy…" until the first cup of coffee had been drunk, and the mopping up of egg yolk with bread had commenced. With a stab of affection, Hermione realised that her old school friends knew when to Be Quiet. They also deserved to be asked how long it would be okay to stay for, and if they had heard from Ron.

'As long as you need to. We'll give you the occasional shopping list, and if you could baby-sit sometimes, that would be great,' said Ginny. 'Ron hasn't been in touch – were you expecting him to show up?'

'I'm not sure,' confessed Hermione. 'I got back to the Flat, packed a bag and left without speaking. I don't think Ron realised anything was up; I'm not sure he even noticed I'd come home.'

'Was he out?' asked Harry, looking a bit confused.

'No, he was there, but by the look of it, his head was going to be in the toilet within the hour,' Hermione groaned. 'He, Seamus and Dean had obviously gone to the Cauldron straight from work and picked up some firewhisky on their way back to the Flat.'

'How bad?' asked Ginny, while carefully siphoning bits of porridge and banana off baby Gideon's face, hands, chest and hair with her wand.

'The usual.'

Hermione grimaced at the memory, and all the other memories of Friday nights, and quite a few Tuesdays, Thursdays and Saturdays to be honest. Harry tried (and failed) to prevent any envy entering his expression.

'It's not that I mind the odd lads' night out, but we haven't had an evening out together for months… And how ever many times I try to teach him laundry spells, and how to charm the washing up, I always end up doing all the housework when I get home from work.'

Hermione knew she'd entered Level 1 whingeing mode but couldn't resist notching up a quick burst of Level 3 (how _could_ he!) while she was at it. 'The last straw was Chinese food all over my copy of _Magical Diagnosis_,' she moaned. 'He _knows_ how expensive that was; I did enough extra shifts to pay for it.'

Ginny and Harry exchanged glances. Ron must have a death-wish if he was spilling food on Hermione's books; the man was lucky not to have been hexed into an amoeba. Ginny took a deep breath and began to speak in a determined manner.

'Look, we're sorry things are not working out… but you've got to realise that Ron has been bloody lonely the whole time you've been obsessively studying and working extra shifts. He can't handle being on his own for long; it's a legacy of being part of a big family. Dump him, of course, but be prepared to take your own share of the blame.'

Hermione scowled. The fact that Ginny was once again right entered her mind and left like a speeding Firebolt. Cheeky cow had no right to lecture _her_ about making Ron lonely. She and the Boy-Who-Cooks had been running a secret business with a couple of Death Eaters for the last three bloody years – which surely cut into the time available to spend with one's brother and best friend. Three succinct sentences were sufficient to put that point across, and the girls were just gearing up for a proper scrap when baby Gideon's "give me milk, or I'll split your bloody eardrums" cry brought proceedings to a halt.

Ginny picked him up and yelled over the racket before sweeping out of the kitchen. 'This is a conversation you need to be having with Ron, not me. Give him a couple of hours to get over the worst of his hangover and get it sorted one way or the other. You're welcome to stay, but not to use this house as a hide-out.'

Harry cleared his throat and tried to smile. It was a pathetic effort, but Hermione was so relieved that Harry wasn't blaming the situation on her that she smiled back and mumbled an apology. They shared the rest of the coffee, cleared up the breakfast things and made idle chit-chat about the kitchen décor before retiring to the comfy garden chairs and _Daily Prophet_ weekend supplements. After half an hour, Hermione got bored with reading profiles of the Wimbourne Wasps players and this month's style tips for discerning witches. Harry noticed her staring at him impatiently and waited for the barrage of questions he knew was about to hit him.

'Harry…do you really trust Snape and Draco?' she began. 'I mean, you hated them both so much after what happened to Dumbledore, I can't believe you actually get on with them okay, now.'

Harry considered the question for a moment and stared into the distance before answering. 'Knowing what I do now, I honestly think that Dumbledore was almost as psycho and ruthless as Voldemort ever was.'

Hermione gasped and stuttered hopelessly, 'N-n-n no, no fucking way Harry! How could you say that?'

'Some of the stuff that Remus, Snape and Draco told me was enough to totally melt your mind. I mean, Dumbledore let me lead you and Ron into danger and end up facing Voldemort alone when I was bloody ELEVEN, _just to test his own hypothesis!_ Snape told him not to leave for the Ministry that day, and apparently Dumbledore just smiled and said he'd be back in time to, "deal with any unforeseen problems". And Dumbledore knew that something fishy was going on during that stupid Triwizard Tournament. Apparently, he was philosophical about me getting Crucio'd and cut up by Tom Riddle, but furious that I let Cedric get killed. Remus said that he turned up at Grimmauld Place that night and tore the kitchen apart with _one spell_. He paid off Cedric's Mum and Dad to stop them going to the papers and getting Hogwarts closed down, and it took Molly three weeks to put the kitchen back together.'

Hermione was shocked but still sceptical. 'Yeah, but Dumbledore didn't plan to end up dead, did he?'

'Well, no. He made a mistake with that Horcrux'ed ring, apparently. He swanned into the Department of Mysteries one night with Fawkes, grabbed his tail in one hand and stuck the hand with the ring on straight through that bloody awful veil. Severus did his nut when he came back from a meeting with Voldemort and found Dumbledore sitting in his office half-dead and mad as a rabbit. He was literally crumbling away, and mostly high as a kite on phoenix tears and pain potions for the rest of the year. Even if I hadn't forced that bloody awful potion down his throat and he'd managed to fall on the floor, rather than off that sodding tower, Dumbledore was fucked!'

Hermione grimaced sympathetically. She would have left it at that, but Harry was in full rant mode.

'Draco was dumped completely in the shit, too. Dumbledore knew exactly what he was up to, and he let Draco spend months tearing his hair out, thinking he was doing the only thing possible to protect his Mum and Dad. Dumbledore told Snape it, "served the little shit right for being stupid enough to take the Dark Mark". You can imagine how well that went down with Severus.'

_Christ on a bike_ thought Hermione. Who knew? It did sound like Dumbledore was a bit of a git after all, and she had thought dealing with Ron was a sticky problem.

'Think about it, Hermione,' said Harry, frowning. 'How much did we really notice when we were school kids? Remus and Tonks were seeing each other all the way through our fifth year, and we were totally oblivious to it. Sirius was bipolar, and drinking a bottle of firewhisky a day didn't exactly help. Draco was trying to safeguard his parents' lives, and I, of all people, should have appreciated that, even if his methods were a bit messed up. We were all self-obsessed teenagers, and we didn't know shit about the adults surrounding us, and how they were all just trying to cope with the situation.'

It took Hermione the rest of the morning to digest what Harry had told her. Since when had he been the perceptive one? Perhaps spending so much time studying and dealing with the terminally immature Ron had prevented her from gaining an objective view of her childhood.

Hermione felt ever-so-slightly ashamed that she'd woken up to thoughts of linen and spice and all things nice when she should have been figuring out how to dump her boyfriend.

* * *

In the end, she went to find Ginny and apologised. Gideon happily played with Pygmy Puff Arnold the Third while the girls had a teary chat. In the evening, Hermione returned to the Flat, explained everything to a stunned Ron and left him with enough rent money to pay off the notice period on their lease. (At least Mr Poppleford's sexual proclivities had left her with beer money).

For the first time in years, Hermione dragged her old school trunk out of a cupboard and loaded it up with the rest of her clothes and books. By that time, Ron had begun to come round, and the stream of yelling and obscenities that followed was horrible. No one likes to be called a dried-up, work-obsessed bitch at the best of times.

A suggestion that they had probably been too young to settle down, and they didn't have enough in common, did not go down well. It was met with snide comments about Harry and Ginny being fine, because Ginny wasn't a freak, and that the last six years had obviously been a monumental waste of time and effort. Unfortunately, Hermione agreed with the last statement and said so. Then she left in a hurry.

By agreement, Harry turned up at the Flat an hour later to show moral support for Ron, and Ginny spent the evening trying to mop up Hermione's mortified tears while looking after a fractious baby. Hermione didn't need to be at work until Sunday evening, so after letting her cry for an hour, Ginny practically poured firewhisky down the girl's throat until she fell asleep.

In the early hours of the morning, Harry fell through the Floo into the sitting room with a grunt. He tried to be as quiet as possible getting ready for bed, which meant that Ginny was sitting up waiting for him with a tolerant smile and raised eyebrows.

'Can't handle m'booze any more," Harry slurred. "He'll be alright, but Her-_hic_-mione's right; tha' flat's a fuckin' pigsty already.'

Ginny sighed and made a mental note to Floo her Mum at some point the next day.

* * *

About three weeks later, Hermione was in her boss' office sipping tea and feeling intensely nervous. A wand page had summoned her away from the culinary delights of St Mungo's staff canteen. _Thank fuck Harry is cooking tonight_.

Hermione was curtly informed that a patient had complained about her lack of bedside manner. This was a bit rich; the patient in question was a wizard in his nineties, who felt that all female staff members were there for the sole purpose of having their bottoms pinched and their boobs squeezed. Ensuring that he spent a day with his thumbs and forefingers stuck to his own nipples had seemed like a perfectly reasonable idea to Hermione, but it seemed one was supposed to be more, "friendly and tolerant". She had three weeks of annual leave overdue and was told to use it.

That night, Ginny invited Draco Malfoy and Severus Snape over for dinner. Hermione helped Harry bath baby Gideon and put him to bed before quickly tying her hair back in a loose bun and putting on a bit of mascara and eyeliner. Once filled with Harry's lasagne and salad and a hefty amount of Chianti (Draco again), Hermione told the story of Mr "Nipples" Mackenzie. She was surprised and somewhat chuffed when Draco laughed out loud and Snape snorted appreciatively at the tale and said she'd been too kind to the old letch.

'You need to learn the subtle art of intimidation, Hermione,' said Snape with a smirk. 'That way, no one dare complain of their treatment.'

Harry winced at the thought of previous "treatment", but Hermione simply grinned at Snape and murmured that she was prepared to learn from the best, earning a quick grin in return.

Hermione was sitting across the table from her former Potions teacher and had spent the evening trying, not quite successfully, not to stare at his once again revealed forearms. Or his nice wide shoulders and rather hunky chest. Hermione found herself wondering what it would be like to run her fingers across his pale skin. She was canny enough to avoid eye-contact while doing so, though.

Neither she nor Severus realised that they were under close observation from both Ginny Potter and Draco Malfoy. Being ex-Slytherin to the core _and_ gay as the flowers in springtime, Draco had a gossip radar that would have picked up on a Disillusioned stealth fighter with a good Secret-Keeper. Hermione was: a. wearing eye makeup, b. stealing (for a former Gryffindor) subtle glances at the man opposite and c. smiling at his words. Snape had smirked at her in an almost friendly manner and had once actually, genuinely _smiled_ – something of a record for one evening.

Draco remembered that when their half-year meeting adjourned, Snape had scooped up Hermione without hesitation and taken her upstairs to bed before retrieving a battered pair of trainers from the back patio and an equally battered suitcase from outside the front door. For the massively un-chivalrous Snape, this all equated to scattering rose petals wherever Hermione trod – with a bit of serenading thrown in for good measure.

Inwardly, Draco grabbed a Snitch out of a blue sky and performed a neat loop-the-loop. Severus refused to let Neville stay over at their house for more than the odd night, having stated that the last thing he was prepared to endure was a pair of poofs using all the hot water and making eyes at each other over the morning coffee. If Hermione Granger began to make regular appearances during breakfast, Snape wouldn't have a leg to stand on, and Draco's sex life would take a spectacular turn for the better. It was definitely time to begin plotting.

Ginny Potter was wise in the ways of male behaviour, having a husband, four surviving brothers and a quietly rebellious Dad. She had also made a concerted effort to gauge Severus Snape's body language, given that for years he'd seemed likely to obliterate the boy/man of her dreams. She surreptitiously watched Severus neatly fill Hermione's wineglass and ask her some question about the healing potions used at St Mungo's. Ginny's eyebrows raised a fraction at this, and a fraction more when Hermione began to speak – while pushing her shoulders back, tilting her head and twirling a stray curl of hair around her index finger. Catching Draco's smug expression, Ginny met his eyes. This was going to be interesting. Harry might get on okay with Snape and Draco nowadays, but how would he react to his best friend (and recent ex of his other best friend) teaching Severus Snape how to use his particular potion stirrer?

Over coffee, the conversation moved on to the products that Snape brewed. Because Madam Pomfrey was equally exasperated by school children and knew just what it was like to deal with a spaced out Dumbledore, she had a large, fluffy soft spot for the man. Unbeknown to Headmistress McGonagall, the company (Phoenix Feathers Ltd.), therefore brewed all the medicine for Hogwarts, and for several local clinics in various parts of the country where old friends of Poppy Pomfrey worked.

Following a concerted post-natal slimming effort, Ginny had also tarted herself up, made the most of her Celtic looks and poached the business of brewing the more complex potions for the wizarding hospitals in Dublin, St Brigid's, and in Paris, St Isabella's. An international Floo connection had been installed in all the fireplaces at Draco and Severus' house, and orders were instantaneously delivered and received. While they were out, the staunch M.A.A. (Magical Alcoholics Anonymous) member, Winky the house-elf, took any orders that came in. If anything really urgent came up, she could Apparate to wherever Severus happened to be.

Hermione was impressed; what with that and providing Wolfsbane Potion and one-to-one counselling, the company was doing very, very well. Profits were shared between each of the company founders, with Snape taking the largest cut due to his vital expertise. The cherry on the top of this Galleon flavoured sundae would be St Mungo's business. However, one Potions brewer (even if he was an ex-Death Eater, boarding school house master and über-spy), could only do so much. Although Harry (with the help of a certain well-notated text book) was proficient enough to cover things like Pepper-Up, Dreamless Sleep and Acne Banisher for Hogwarts, Snape was apparently working his elegant fingers to the bone. Harry was eager to recruit a second brewer, but Snape scowled at the thought.

'Didn't you learn to brew medicinal potions as part of your training?' Ginny innocently asked Hermione. Draco rolled his eyes at her lack of subtlety.

'Well, yes, I did. It was fun, actually, because we brewed the really complex stuff like Artery Cleaner and the various cancer therapy potions. Jill Hazel, our instructor, was very kind and patient. She knew that most of us just had to understand the principles behind each potion, rather than brew them under stressed conditions.' Hermione gave Snape a pointed look.

'Hardly adequate training for a situation where everyone else is pissed off or panicking,' sniffed Snape dismissively.

'Well, no, but we had all experienced your classroom for six or seven years, and the Spell Damage ward on Christmas day, so I'm not completely unable to cope under pressure.' Hermione smiled sweetly at Snape, who gave her his blackest, blankest stare.

'Why don't you come over tomorrow and have a little look at our setup?' Draco dropped his question into an atmosphere that had inexplicably become brittle and frozen. When in Rome, or Gryffindorish company, he decided, it might pay to act like the natives.

Blinking twice and turning towards Draco, Hermione blushed. 'I-I don't want to disturb you both if you're so busy!' she squeaked, completely taken aback by Snape's reversion to his "Teacher-of-Doom" attitude.

'Nonsense, darling! I'll Floo Nevvie, and he can show you round the herb garden while I gaze at his arse,' replied Draco promptly. 'I haven't seen him since you last did, and term finished today. Severus can wow you with his shiny new cauldrons, and then we can have tea with some of Harry's sponge cake – it'll be perfect. Be a love and whip up one in the morning, Potter. I can pick up Hermione and the other tasty morsel after lunch.' Draco winked at Harry, who blinked at the combination of Malfoy's peremptory order and sudden campness.

At that moment, Winky appeared in the sitting room and tugged apologetically on Severus' trouser leg. He grimaced, bid the table a stern farewell and swept out of the room to use the Floo in Ginny's office.

Later, while lying in bed reading about a gorgeous (rich) man chasing a hot air balloon in a horse and carriage, Hermione frowned. Why had the idea of her brewing medicinal potions got Snape's knickers in a twist? It wasn't like she was working with him… Oh.

Oh, f_uck_. Snape thought that Ginny and Harry would angle for Hermione to become another Phoenix Feather, and he didn't think she was good enough. How bloody embarrassing was that? Hermione's frown deepened. Snape was quite fanciable nowadays; therefore, it was imperative that his opinion be changed as soon as bloody possible.

Author's Notes:

1. According to the catholicforum website, Saint Brigid of Ireland is the patron saint of healers and Saint Isabella of France is the patron saint of sick people. St Mungo is the patron saint of Glasgow, Scotland.

2. Yes, I have gay/les mates. The gay ones delight in being fey and girlie when they want something, so no moaning about stereotypical Draco please.

3. For comfort reading, i.e. massively sappy Regency romance made bearable by humour, Georgette Heyer's Fredrica (in which a hot air balloon makes an appearance) is okay.


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: I'm either on the Sunday Times Rich List or I'm knocking out this tale for some extra cash. That was an example of sarcasm.

This is me, prostrating myself at the feet of Beta of Dreams, Melusin.

**Chapter 3: Flowers, Freckles and Attempted Froideur.**

The following afternoon, Hermione wandered the gravel paths of a neatly laid out herb and flower garden and tried to listen attentively to Neville's explanation of harvesting and storage methods. This was made difficult by Draco, who sat on a nearby wooden bench, pretending to read the paper while wolf-whistling every time Neville bent over to snag a stray weed. Neville made a valiant attempt not to look happy about the attention he was receiving, but it didn't take long for him to flash an adoring smile at his boyfriend and suggest that Hermione might like to take a look at the laboratories in the cellar.

Turning towards the house, Hermione allowed her gaze to wander over the mullioned windows and decoratively spiralled red-brick chimney stacks. The half-timbered Tudor house was absolutely _gorgeous_. The River Wye gleamed in the distance; in the lush green water meadows fat cows moo'ed and sheep baa'ed while the world spun sleepily on its axis, as though peace and happiness could never be disturbed.

Harry, Ginny, Severus and Draco had managed to leave behind the terror and tension of the war years and carve out a little piece of affluent rural heaven somewhere near the English border. Suddenly, a rented one-bedroom flat in Muggle London and endless nights in the on-call room seemed utterly fucking depressing.

Hermione couldn't begrudge that particular group of people their happiness. She could, however, fervently long for a piece of the pie. Perhaps, if her Potions brewing skills were below Snape's par, she could act as a medical consultant, advising on dose-size, new therapies and possible misdiagnoses. That wouldn't help Snape out, though, and Hermione couldn't bear the thought of his return to translucent-skinned, lank-haired exhaustion. He wouldn't be nearly so shaggable.

Severus Snape met them at the door from the garden, which opened onto a large boot-room complete with wellies and waterproof cloaks. A rangy border collie slid between his legs and scrutinised Hermione silently. The dog moved towards her, and without thinking, Hermione knelt on the gravel and slid her hands over sleek black and white hair, before scratching under the dog's ears. Gazing into deep brown eyes, Hermione grinned widely and broke into a babble of baby-talk, entirely forgetting her present company.

'Hello, gorgeous. What's your name then, huh? Do you like that? Do you, do you?'

The dog collapsed bonelessly onto the floor and rolled over to have its tummy rubbed. A girl-dog, apparently. Hermione looked up from her ministrations and realised that Neville and Draco were staring open-mouthed while Snape was scowling horribly.

'For fuck's _sake!_ Have you no discretion, you silly bitch?' Snape growled.

'I beg your pardon?'

Hermione provided abundant evidence that she was very good at scowling too. The collie flipped over and regarded the tall man before her with a cocked head and a waving tail.

'Not _you_, the bloody dog!' replied Snape, whose scowl remained firmly in place. 'Put the kettle on, Draco. We'll be up in half an hour,' he continued. 'Come on, Granger, I haven't got all day.'

Hermione obediently picked herself up and brushed the bits of gravel that had stuck to her be-shorted legs back onto the floor. She winced at the redness and dimples left behind on her knees and wished for the umpteenth time that she could remember to behave in a ladylike manner.

The dog paused to snarl viciously at Neville and disappeared after her master; a startled Hermione followed them. Trotting after Snape down an increasingly dark corridor, then narrow stone steps, Hermione wondered if she would have picked him as a "dog man". She also wondered whether she would have had her nose bitten off, if he hadn't been around when she met his unexpected pet.

The cellar turned out to be a beautifully vaulted undercroft, lit extensively with wall bracketed candles. Divided into three cool rooms by arched doorways, the space must have been four times the size of the dungeon classroom at Hogwarts. Wooden workbenches held rows of varying sized cauldrons. Most were cold and empty, but three pewter cauldrons in the middle room simmered gently. Hermione immediately recognised a large batch of Blood-Replenishing Potion, which Snape swiftly checked and shrugged at.

'For Hogwarts and the Lancashire clinic,' he explained briefly, before carefully examining the second brew.

This one was smaller. It smelled powerfully of Tea Tree oil and glittered slightly. Hermione was surprised; colloidal silver meant a serious, untreated infection. It also meant certain death for any werewolf that got a sniff of the stuff. No wonder there were separate rooms for brewing; contamination would be a disaster.

'Who on earth needs that?' she exclaimed. 'They must be in pretty bad shape.'

'You could say that,' drawled Snape. 'If you class being three years old, swiped by a Bowtruckle and abandoned by your parents, who thought that a werewolf was responsible because it happened in the woods, "bad shape".'

Hermione eyed the potion thoughtfully. 'Definitely a Bowtruckle?'

'Mmm hmm. When the nice Healer asked the ickle boy what happened, he got a snot-covered robe and a tearful diatribe about a horrid scratchy twig. Then he got puked on.'

'Well in that case,' said Hermione, incensed, 'the kid might be better off without moron Mummy and dickhead Daddy.'

Snape chuckled richly, gulped and frowned. Then he put the flame out below the antibiotic solution with a flick of his wand.

'We can but hope,' he replied, carefully bottling the potion and adding a label that displayed a fan of four feathers (one green, one silver, one red, one yellow).

Chucking a handful of powder into the nearby fireplace, Snape enunciated, 'St Brigid's, Limerick ward!' in his deep voice and stuck his upper body briefly into the resulting green flames to deliver the finished product.

The final potion was black and syrupy. Occasionally, a bubble rose to the surface and burst with a malevolent gurgle. Hermione recognised it immediately as a treatment for lung cancer. This was a remarkable example, though. As Snape watched a timer and stirred metronomically – four turns clockwise, one turn anti-clockwise – Hermione moved closer and regarded the shining fluid. It was so smooth – flawless, in fact. Hours of practice with this particular recipe for disaster had got her almost as good, but not quite. Snape finished stirring and removed the glass rod.

'Your verdict?' he enquired.

'Fucking wicked,' breathed Hermione, seriously impressed.

She turned towards Snape, not realising he was so close. His long, dark lashes were caught in profile, and the high bridge of his prominent nose gleamed in the candlelight. A little flock of dark brown freckles flew into view, and Hermione was lost. Severus Snape was fit as fuck.

Having your nose stared at as if it has developed a chocolate coating tends to draw your attention. Snape turned his head, glowered at Hermione for a second then abruptly swept away from the workbench, moving in loping strides towards the cellar exit.

'Tea,' he said.

* * *

Draco and Neville called them into the kitchen (apparently large scrubbed-pine tables existed in _all_ wizarding kitchens). The unlikely duo were practically screaming, "just had hasty fantastic sex" and seemed unable to entirely stop touching each other until Snape raised a supercilious eyebrow and fingered his wand lovingly.

Two mugs of English Breakfast (_none of that perfumed Earl Grey shite, thank you very much_) and a slice of Victoria sponge shared with the dog, under Snape's baleful but silent observation, helped Hermione recover her equilibrium. Now was not the time to fall head-over-heels for a potential boss, even if he did smell lovely, look lovely and sound lovely.

Neville shot Hermione an envious look from the safety of the other side of the table exclaiming, 'I can't believe Sekhmet actually likes you! She doesn't like _anyone_ apart from Severus, of course.'

It took a while for Hermione to gather that Neville wasn't referring to a lion-headed goddess of war, but to a cake-filled border collie. _What a weird name for a dog._

'Yes, well now she's choc-full of cake, I think it's high time she had a chance to walk it off, or at least bring it back up,' snapped Severus, whose previous amiability was rapidly becoming a distant memory. 'Come on, Sek, I'm sure we can survive without Miss Granger's presence.'

With that, One Man and His Dog wandered off into the garden and disappeared from view. Hermione giggled at the thought. Draco and Neville grinned and inevitably began to move towards each other. This was Hermione's cue to leave.

* * *

Five days of weeding and thoroughly de-gnomeing the Potters' garden and picking strawberries meant considerable progress on a tan, golden highlights to alleviate the monotony of brown hair and the odd scratch and bruise. What with the fresh air, fresh food and decent sleep, Hermione was feeling healthier than she had in years. Life was good, except when Hermione remembered that she should be feeling miserable about Ron, and (much worse) that she'd be going back to work soon.

Ginny had expressed milk like crazy, left strict warming charm instructions, and gone to Paris for two days to finalise contract negotiations with St Isabella's, complaining about her ill-fitting smart robes as she left. In the evening when Gideon was asleep, Hermione and Harry giggled about the inevitable shopping bill and reminisced about old times. Harry got a bit quiet when Ron's name was brought up, and Hermione repeatedly apologised for the mess they'd made of their relationship. Eventually, Harry quietly gave the opinion that Hermione was not the one to bear the brunt of the blame and disappeared through the Floo to the Flat, returning silently only five minutes later, in an absolutely blazingly bad mood. Hermione didn't dare ask why; she wasn't sure she wanted to know. Harry's disposition hadn't improved the following day when he Floo'd Snape and asked to see him.

Snape stepped out of the fireplace, into the sitting room and gazed through the French windows transfixed. Harry followed his eyes and found Hermione sprawled on the lawn on a rug, bikini top and shorts in attendance, toes waving in the air, book in her hand. Harry very nearly hooted with laughter at the Muggleness of the sight until he noticed Snape's expression, deciding instead to hastily usher the older man into Ginny's office before he started visibly drooling.

In the garden, Hermione's attention was torn from Regency England by the muffled sounds of a proper shouting match that she really shouldn't be hearing.

'No, _no!_ I'm not having it. You can't foist another sodding Gryffindor school-chum on me, just because it's your name on the tax return!'

'Don't be fucking stupid, Severus! It's my livelihood, too, you know. Having a qualified Healer on the books would give us greater credibility, if and when we push for St Mungo's. Just see if she wants to trial it while she's on leave. Give it another day or two, and her head will explode from lack of work!'

Snape's voice lowered to a glowering rumble that was eerily echoed by thunder from the clouds gathering overhead. 'There must be someone, _anyone_, else we can ask…'

Harry's reply was inaudible. Hermione groaned and dropped her book, losing her place. Of course this lovely little bubble had to burst. The weather would break, Snape would show no interest in her professionally or personally, and she'd live in a pokey London bedsit and have no sex for ever and ever.

A minute later, a heavy splat of rain landed in the small of Hermione's back, followed by a virtual bucket-full of cold Welsh raindrops. She gathered up book and rug and legged it round the two sides of the cottage that led to the kitchen door, tumbling in bare-foot and clammy. One high velocity collision with a coffee cup-holding Snape, and one soggy apology later, Hermione tottered into her bedroom and threw herself onto the bed with a wail.

She was staring at the ceiling humming, 'Nobody loves me, everybody hates me, think I'll go-and-eat-worms…' when Harry knocked on the door and entered with a mug of tea, and his gaze firmly on the carpet.

'I take it you overheard the beginning of our conversation,' he murmured.

'Beginning?'

'Uh-huh, beginning. We are thinking of offering you a job. I've spoken to everyone, and they're dead keen on the idea. Don't suppose you fancy trying your hand at a spot of Wolfsbane tomorrow, do you? Remus says he'll use it this month and report on the results to Snape.'

Sniff. 'Is Snape all right with that?'

'Yes, he is. He wouldn't be Snape if he didn't get shouty, but he can see reason occasionally.'

Sniff. 'Okay, then.'

'Hermione,' began Harry, pausing to hand over the tea and lift his eyes to meet hers, 'is there anything going on between you and Severus?'

Hermione shot to a sitting position and gulped her tea as nonchalantly as possible.

'No, of course not, why do you ask?' _Please be good news, please be interesting, please say he's mentioned me…Oh, don't be bloody ridiculous, woman!_

'No reason. Just wondered.'

Harry exited the bedroom and went to get Gideon up from his afternoon nap. A deafening crack of thunder was followed by a long baby-wail. Bloody, buggering fabulous. Tomorrow was going to be fun.

Author's Note:

For non-Brits: 'One Man and his Dog' is a long-running TV programme on the BBC. It screens sheepdog trials where border collies run around frantically herding sheep according to their masters' whistled instructions. The commentators make disapproving noises whenever a sheep makes a bid for freedom. Think Babe the sheep pig, with more mud and less pig. Believe me when I say that the idea of Snape in this context is truly bizarre.


	4. Chapter 4

Disclaimer: not mine, not even a particularly original homage, not for profit, not a good thing to be doing instead of the work I should be concentrating on.

Please bear in mind that my grasp of punctuation is so limited that there would be nothing to read without the time, effort and guidance of Beta-of-Dreams, Melusin – who will no doubt have to correct this acknowledgement!

**Chapter 4: Not at all Quiet on the Potions Front.**

Severus Snape was _not_ a happy bunny. Not by nature, and certainly not as he stared moodily at prepared ingredients for the huge, specially commissioned cauldron in which the monthly Wolfsbane supplies were brewed. He glanced sideways, checking the progress of his lab companion, who silently worked next to a small cauldron in the far corner of the room.

It was nearly four weeks since a rather dirty Healer in hideous lime-green scrubs had eff'ed and blinded her way into the comfiest chair he'd ever managed to conjure and back into his life. She'd scoffed sausages (dripping ketchup on her left boob) and gulped down wine like it was going out of fashion, all the while glaring and snapping and demanding answers. The grubby little oik had proceeded to lay waste to her long-term lover in two sentences, and then had the temerity to stare at _his_ arms as if searching for signs of evil.

And then the girl had dropped off to sleep, all scrunched up in that chair. Her long eyelashes had emphasised the deep shadows under her eyes. She looked knackered and slept like the dead, one sock rolling off its foot, one thumb edging its way into her mouth. Therein lay the origin of the buck-toothiness of her youth.

He hadn't realised he was in trouble until he felt an overwhelming compulsion to ensure that Hermione's sleep continued undisturbed. When the Phoenix Feathers meeting adjourned, Severus had picked her up as gently as he could and quietly requested directions to the spare room from Ginny. Climbing up the stairs, trying not to wheeze, Snape bent his neck to listen to a mumbled comment about a suitcase (asleep, and she _still_ bossed people around). He heard a ridiculous squeak of a sigh, got a mouthful of hair for his trouble and felt his heart pound into overdrive.

So _that_ was what it felt like. Bloody, bugger, arse-hole, shit, fuck and fart. How ludicrous? He honestly couldn't remember doing anything but take the piss out of her when she was a kid, and now he'd gone all drippy over her.

Snape remembered awkwardly using his foot to kick the duvet out of the way, lowering Hermione onto the bed and stroking her hair away from her face. He dimly recalled replacing the duvet and feeling another jolt in the region of his left ventricle when the sleeping girl happily rolled onto her side and tucked her thumb back in her mouth. He'd backed away before he ended up kissing her goodnight and getting a patented Granger slap for it, obediently fetched trainers and suitcase and left without a word.

Things had got worse since. She'd told them why she was on holiday, and Severus had been a whisker away from throwing his head back and laughing out loud. The girl could be vindictive and inventive when punishing people. How glorious! A complement, a glowing smile and an upward glance through those eyelashes caused Snape to lose his cool completely. He'd grinned back and begun to chat her up, thinking work was a good subject to start with, rather than, 'Will you have my babies?'

When Ginny dropped the Potions job grenade into the bunker of Snape's tightly controlled existence, he had panicked, actually _used_ the word "panicked" in his next sentence and clammed up immediately. There was no way he could work with Hermione without making a fool of himself.

Despite his (admittedly over-subtle) attempt at warning her off, she'd shipped up at the House in tattered shorts and a faded vest and stolen the heart of the only woman who'd ever been devoted to him (_fucking dog!_). She'd displayed perfect knowledge of his latest efforts, examining everything with a hawk-like professional eye and sliding around the labs like she owned them (_I do, I own the labs!_). She'd sidled over for a closer look, gawked at the monstrosity that was his nose – in apparently horrified fascination – _and_ giggled at his attempts to escape the kitchen with a scrap of dignity intact.

To cap it all, yesterday Potter had provided a teasing view of a tanned and half-naked Hermione, clearly as a means of talking him into this Wolfsbane nonsense. As a result, last night had been sweaty and restless and full of seriously pervy dreams.

While taking a much needed shower, Snape wondered if it would be worse if Hermione went back to London, and he didn't see her for another five years, or if she stayed in Wales with the Potters. He'd been staring into space, pondering the question while getting out of the shower, when he had trodden in a puddle on the bathroom floor and skidded wildly, pulling the towel rail off the wall as he desperately grasped for purchase.

Even when lying on the bathroom floor, covered in towels and bits of wall plaster, the problem churned in Snape's mind. It wasn't that he was opposed to a bit of how's-your-father with a young and pretty witch. He wasn't bloody stupid. It was _this_ witch that was the problem, because she was stunning – in a Bludger to the head kind of way – despite the fact (or maybe because) she was clearly a vindictive, man-eating scruff. Most importantly, he had no idea whether she fancied him or not, which was unusual because he'd always prided himself on being ultra-perceptive…

Returning to the present and adding a bowl full of aconite to his potion, Snape sighed, mentally reassigning himself to the category of terminally hooked unrequited lover (or Sad Bastard). He decided he'd better get used to sneakily letching over Hermione until he'd figured out his chances. She would, of course, brew Wolfsbane to perfection and be able to produce anything else that was requested, except maybe the incredibly obscure. He'd surreptitiously sent a company Owl to Jill Hazel at St Mungo's and got a glowing recommendation along the lines of, "You lucky sods, I wish she was working for me," in reply.

The girl in question sauntered over to join Severus beside the biggest cauldron she'd ever seen. She wiped her grubby hands on the over-baggy safety robes she'd borrowed off Harry and meekly said, 'I'm finished if you want to take a look.'

Severus nodded and followed her over to the smoking brew in the corner, thanking all the deities that he wasn't staring at her fireproof-robed bottom when Remus Lupin entered the room.

* * *

Remus sampled Hermione's Wolfsbane a day earlier than usual, just in case of an adverse reaction (apparently it tasted like shit, which was good). By the time Snape had finished his brewing, Draco, Neville and Winky had begun to dish out a kitchen table dinner of smoked haddock, new potatoes and fresh peas from the garden.

The owners of Phoenix Feathers Ltd. had gathered at the House to prepare for the first day of the full moon. Ginny was back from France, in a very pretty summer dress that was bias-cut and suited her maternal curviness. Molly's genes were making themselves known, and Harry was shooting heavy-lidded glances in his wife's direction as she grappled with baby Gideon and some mashed up potato and carrot. Tonks was purple-haired and shattered from a week of double-shifted Auror'ing. She was planning to sleep as much as her equally shattered husband over the next few days. As usual, Severus and Draco were letting her use a spare room while Remus bedded down in a secure room next door. Neville and Draco were providing comic relief, gigglingly triumphant that the dinner wasn't burnt and chucking peas at each other across the kitchen.

Winky was ecstatic to be serving a house-full of people.

Hermione sat in the chair next to Severus and absent-mindedly reached under the table to stroke the hovering Sekhmet's ears at the same time as he did. Their hands touched, and dark eyes met hazel. Both Healer and potions maker managed an ear-throbbing blush before snatching their hands away from a bewildered Sek and turning their attention to the plates in front of them.

Tonks and Remus looked puzzled when Harry, Ginny, Draco and Neville simultaneously stifled sniggers. Winky, frowning at Draco's preparatory wand-swishing, determinedly poured out pumpkin juice and wondered if humans ever grew up. Then she stuck a fork into her own hand for thinking Bad Thoughts, and got roundly scolded by Hermione.

In the morning, the busiest day in the monthly calendar of Phoenix Feathers Ltd. started bright (after some coffee) and early. Everyone but Snape, who measured out each dose, Draco, who called out destinations and gathered money, and designated babysitter Hermione, constantly ducked in and out of the Floo. Hundreds of batches of smoky Wolfsbane were dispatched and drunk. Some of the children could be heard squealing with excitement as a sooty Harry Potter appeared in their fireplace, grin and scar in place. Snape scowled at this, but Draco ignored it as he was completely immersed in ticking off the deliveries and counting out the resulting Galleons.

Hermione managed to sneak into the cellar while Gideon had his afternoon nap and was entranced by the air of controlled excitement, tight coordination of movement and (most of all) the pile of money that built up on the workbench at the back of the lab. She couldn't believe how well the band of former enemies worked together. Even Snape laughed and commented that Quidditch training still came in handy as Ginny turned away from delivering the last batch and deftly lobbed the empty goblet into a swirl of charmed washing-up water on the other side of the lab.

Hermione's Wolfsbane had passed its first test, so Remus swallowed a second dose at four o'clock in the afternoon and disappeared with Tonks for a bath and some rest (shagging) before it got dark.

Chatting tiredly, the others drifted up from the cellar, showered and changed before flopping onto chairs in the herb garden with ice-cold lagers. Harry took over care of Gideon and began to carefully explain the rules of Quiddich to the nine-month old baby. Draco pulled hideous faces over his shoulder – interesting Gideon far more, much to Harry's disgust. The general mood was of contentment at a job well done.

Severus and Hermione did not feel at all content, though. They studiously ignored each other while praying silently that Remus passed a restful, furry night.

* * *

Unsurprisingly, Remus was fine the next day, although knackered as usual. Released by Severus, who had been roused at five to brew Heartsease for a survivor of cardiac arrest, he slid into Tonks' room at seven in the morning and slept until noon.

Sitting up in bed, eating a sausage sandwich, the werewolf reported a normal transformation and complete awareness, once fully pawed. To Severus' private amusement, Hermione spun on the spot and attempted a funky dance-move in celebration. Remus wolf-whistled, eying Hermione appreciatively, earning a cold glare of absolute zero proportions from Snape, and a laughing elbow in the ribs from Tonks.

'So, I expect we'll have a meeting in a couple of days' time,' said Tonks.

'We'll come over to Harry's place and let him and Draco go through everything in detail then,' added Remus. 'I hope you're pleased with yourself.'

Hermione looked up at Snape and met his eyes. Completely unable to think of anything sarcastic to say, he merely lifted an eyebrow and murmured, 'I should think she is.' He reached out to shake her hand, and then headed for the door.

Tonks jumped up and hugged Hermione enthusiastically. 'Blimey, love, you must have really impressed the old sod. He likes paying compliments as much as I like paying for hair dye!'

Hermione allowed herself one huge, smug smile and went home to tell Harry. She sang loudly off-key and gleefully kicked a pebble all the way to the front door of the Cottage. _Fuck off London-based monotony; it's time for a spot of Welsh enchantment… I wonder what the pay will be like…_

* * *

To Hermione's surprise, all the founding members of Phoenix Feathers Ltd. gathered in the Potter dining room for an hour long board meeting before she was even formally offered the job. She was not permitted to enter the room until Ginny summoned her from the kitchen with a gentle smile.

'Don't be too nervous, honey,' whispered Ginny, leading Hermione towards the dining room. 'We do have some questions for you, though. Just stay cool, and be honest, and you'll be fine.'

Feeling far more apprehensive than before Ginny opened her mouth, Hermione followed the redhead through the door and was faced by six solemn mages, who all swivelled their chairs towards the end of the table where she stood. This seemed a bit more formal than she had been expecting; even Neville was straight-faced and attentive. While Ginny returned to her seat, no chair was offered to Hermione, and she shifted uncomfortably from foot to foot, wondering what the hell they were up to. After a moment of shuffling papers, Harry began to speak.

'I'll start proceedings by explaining a bit more about what we expect from you,' he said. 'We founded this company in order to fulfil two goals: firstly, each of us has a good reason to stay out of the limelight. Obviously Remus, Severus and Draco have found it difficult to make a living, given their histories and personal circumstances. It was also impossible for Ginny and I to lead a normal life with all the hysteria surrounding Voldemort, and my role in his death. Neville and Tonks have an obvious interest in their partners' wellbeing, but also have very useful skills and hold influential positions.'

Hermione was struck by Harry's businesslike, and frankly, authoritative manner. _Blimey_, _he's grown up a bit; I hope he isn't too bossy!_

Harry continued to speak. 'Secondly, we all want to make a good living, have absolute freedom to work in a manner that suits us, and remain answerable to no one except the other members of the company. Even though Neville and Tonks have other jobs, this little venture keeps them on their toes, and means that, when things get bad at work, they can take comfort in the fact that we all have a big, fat, profitable secret.'

Harry grinned wickedly at Hermione. Obviously the idea of secretly giving the bird to the idiots at the Ministry, the _Daily Prophet_ and even Hogwarts, all while making loads of money, had huge appeal. He might have grown up, but thankfully he hadn't become a pompous twat in the process.

'For these reasons, secrecy is extremely important to us all – before we go any further, I'm asking you to take an oath that you will not tell anyone about who you work with, or where the company is based. You may say that you work for a Potions manufacturer, doing research and development. I'm sure you can manage to bore anyone who asks enough to put them off. We've drawn up a confidentiality agreement. Will you sign it?'

'Exactly what happens if I don't sign?' Hermione asked.

'You leave – after I Obliviate you,' said Tonks immediately, palming her wand.

Hermione shuddered. Tonks might be confident in her abilities, but she was rather clumsy. 'And what happens if I sign, and then tell somebody?'

'Believe me when I tell you that this contract makes that DA parchment seem like a very pleasant experience,' said Ginny firmly. 'Between Draco's and my expertise in hexes and charms, you don't ever want to break this agreement.'

Hermione winced. Ginny could be a vicious little bitch when she put her mind to it, and Draco was a former Death Eater with the darkest possible upbringing. Hermione had heard the rumours that Draco castrated his own father and force-fed him the results with a spell, after Lucius grassed up his Mum for performing an Unbreakable Vow without Voldemort's permission. If she signed, she could never, ever talk. Ron, her parents, Molly, Minerva, Lucy from work; no one could ever know who Hermione worked for.

'I haven't heard anything about the job description or the salary yet,' she said. 'Does signing the confidentiality agreement mean I have to accept the job?'

Draco let out a shout of laughter. 'Well, well, Hermione!' he exclaimed. 'You aren't as silly as you look, are you? No, this is not a job contract; it just means that you're free to visit me and Severus after today.' To Hermione's embarrassment, Draco's eyes swivelled meaningfully between her and Snape. She wondered how to convey her enthusiasm – while still retaining a scrap of dignity.

Conjuring a self-inking quill, Hermione stepped forward. 'I'd like to continue my acquaintance with Sekhmet if that's okay with you, Severus. Where do I sign?' she asked with a grin.

Draco Accio'ed a piece of parchment from the desk in front of Harry and pushed it towards the edge of the table near Hermione. She bent over the table, quickly read the text and scribbled her signature in the space indicated. The parchment immediately rolled up and disappeared with a puff of red smoke.

A collective sigh of relief ran around the table, and Draco kicked a chair towards Hermione with a smirk. 'Right then, Granger. Sit that pretty arse down, and we'll get down to business,' he drawled. 'I may fuck around with Neville, but I certainly don't with money, so we'll deal with that first.

'The company's profits last year came to 300,000 Galleons. With the Paris contract, we're on track to make at least 400,000 this year. If you come on board, we will pay you an annual salary of 25,000 Galleons and give you a one percent share in the company. This will entitle you to an additional one percent of the annual profits – after your salary is deducted – which will be paid out in full on the first day of each year. If it works out well, we'll consider making you a full partner after two years.'

Hermione did a shifty bit of mental arithmetic and sat down heavily, gulping for air. 29,000 Galleons a year! Over £145,000! That was three times her current salary. No wonder Draco looked smug. She would be able to buy a house all by herself. _Fuck-a-doodle-do. Ron would do his nut if he knew…_

'Before you get too excited, you should know that we expect you to work for the money,' added Severus with his own smirk fully in place. 'As you know, we all work on the first day of the full moon – even Longbottom does, whenever he can. Barring serious injury, death or dragon pox, there is _no_ exception to this rule, even if the lunar cycle means the full moon is on your birthday or at Christmas time. In addition, you will be expected to brew the main batch of Wolfsbane, which, as you know, requires three days of preparatory work. You will also be expected to spend two days of each week in the laboratory producing requested potions, one day a week on preparation and stocktaking and be on-call for five nights a week in case of emergencies. We'll deal with dividing up the working hours between us when you start, but to be honest, I hate working nights with a passion, so I'm turning most of them over to you. If you need additional time off, we might be able to work something out, but do _not_ attempt to push your luck.'

Hermione thought about four free days most weeks. She thought about the cool, candlelit undercroft at the House. She thought about sitting at the kitchen table with Severus, going through their timetables and ingredient orders while drinking tea and eating Harry's cake. She smiled happily at the eager faces around her and dropped her decision and her final question into the mix simultaneously. 'I'd like to accept your offer… but I was wondering what you were planning to do about St Mungo's?'

Everyone smiled (in such a relieved manner that Hermione instantly wondered if she should have pushed for a better deal. They must have been really worried). Ginny's and Tonks' smiles were short-lived, however.

'How much do you know about St Mungo's supplier base, Hermione?' asked Tonks.

'Not a lot,' confessed Hermione, blushing. 'As far as I know, the simpler stuff is brewed in-house by Jill Hazel when she isn't teaching. She mentioned something odd about Scrimgeour one day in class, but I was working on reception to make some extra money, and I was a bit sleepy. I was trying to concentrate on not buggering up that day's potion, so I'm afraid I didn't pay much attention.'

Severus was horrified. The Hermione Granger he knew would never have let her attention slide in class. She must have been bloody _knackered!_ What had the girl been doing for the past five years, and why hadn't that lanky prick Weasley been pulling in enough Galleons to make sure his girlfriend could concentrate on her studies? Didn't he know how much she'd be able to earn after a couple of years of practice?

'For the past forty years, St Mungo's has held an exclusive contract with Rufus Scrimgeour's uncle, Carmine Scrimgeour,' said Ginny. 'He's about ninety now, and rumour has it he drinks like a fish and uses apprentices to do most of the work, but obviously, with his family's connections, there isn't much hope we can muscle in on his business.'

Hermione looked thoughtful. 'If it was possible, could we handle the extra work?' she asked.

'It would be a stretch, but we could,' said Severus, sitting up in his chair and regarding Hermione intently. 'Apart from the emergency work we do, it's simply a matter of scaling up the quantities we produce, rather than brewing more frequently. Why do you ask?'

'Well, I heard a rumour last month that a couple of patients were given the wrong potions,' said Hermione, cautiously. Draco was beginning to look distinctly shark-like, and she didn't want to set him on the hunt for more money without cause.

'I don't know if the Healer responsible misdiagnosed, or if there was a mix-up with the potions provided. I don't even know if this uncle of Scrimgeour's was responsible.'

'Fucking hell, Hermione,' breathed Tonks. 'That's trade gold dust, if it's true. Do you think you could find out before you leave?'

Harry's eyes began to twinkle. Hermione's heart sank.

'It's perfect,' said Harry eagerly. 'Go back and snoop. Work out your notice period and be as quietly apologetic as possible about the situation. Blame it on your break-up with Ron if you can. Just try not to draw any attention to your decision and make it seem like you're sorry to be leaving.'

'Sorry!' Hermione squeaked. 'Sorry to be leaving behind groping old men, shit food, my shitty unsympathetic boss and my shittier salary!

'Abso-fucking-lutely. You need to politely disappear from view, not make a triumphantly sudden exit that people would question,' said Harry firmly. 'Employing you is one of the biggest risks we've taken so far. Don't you dare mess it up by rushing things. Besides, if you can dig up the dirt while you're there, you'll return the trust we showed when we didn't Obliviate you after you tried to sneak into our meeting.'

Harry had a point. They were doing her a life-changingly big favour, and they'd trusted her for a whole month with their secret. Hermione sighed, and then perked up a bit at the idea of asking Snape for espionage tips. Every cloud has a silver lining, apparently.

'I'll do it, but most likely there is no dirt to dish. Don't get your hopes up because of me,' she said. 'Now, where's this job contract?'

The moment Hermione signed on the dotted line, Draco began to produce bottle after bottle of chilled Veuve Clicquot. Hermione reflected that the man seemed to have spent most of his six years at Hogwarts learning how to conjure every single wine in Europe. He was rapidly joining her small collection of indispensable friends.

When people began to leave in the early hours of the morning, lots of giggling hugs and cheek kissing occurred. Hermione got seriously dizzy with champagne-fuelled excitement when Severus leant over and whispered, 'I'll see you soon, Hermione,' in her ear and gently kissed her cheek before whisking out of the door into the night.

Author's Note:

Galleons to UK pounds exchange rate is approximated from Anton Generalov's essay, '_Wizard Money_' found at the Harry Potter Lexicon. This will also be used in other chapters.


	5. Chapter 5

Disclaimer: not mine, not even a particularly original homage, not for profit, not a good thing to be doing instead of the work I should be concentrating on.

Melusin has been working hard again. Many thanks to my mighty Beta-of-Dreams.

**Chapter 5: A Nice Little Place in the Country**

Thumping hangover dealt with (potions were so much more effective than flat cola and ibuprofen), Hermione read a copy of her St Mungo's contract. To her disgust, she found out that she would have to work four weeks of notice before bidding a not-so-fond farewell to the place. She Floo'ed her boss, faking an appropriate amount of distress and explaining that, owing to her break-up with Ron, she couldn't live in London anymore and was going back home to live with her parents while "considering her options". Hermione faux-apologetically tendered her resignation and offered to cut her holiday short by a week, in order to work out her notice as quickly as possible.

Hermione's boss was not impressed. He gave her a good yelling at until almost-genuine tears began to well up, and then huffily accepted her plan. Turning away from the fireplace, Hermione heard the muttered words, 'Bloody, useless, _women!_' and instantly decided to put all her efforts into uncovering any scandal, rather than training up her replacement. With any luck, sexist-boss-from-hell would be involved right up to the back of his hairy, sanctimonious neck, and she could drop him in the shit from a great height.

During dinner that evening, Ginny bluntly asked Hermione whether she planned to live in London and Apparate each day, or find somewhere in Wales permanently. Hermione wondered if the novelty of having a live-in babysitter might be wearing a tad thin. She remembered that by all accounts (Harry tended to get rather verbose after too much Firewhisky) Ginny took great pleasure in unexpectedly jumping her husband's bones at random times around the house. Buoyed by her Parisian outfits, Miss Flicky-Hair was probably gagging to slam the door on Hermione and her school trunk and make up for a lost month of fun.

Hermione had already decided that she'd like to set up house nearby, but was met with sceptical noises from her friends, who said that there were only a few houses in the neighbourhood, belonging to Muggle farmers. She decided to go and visit Draco, who probably knew a thing or two about property, given that he was worth a Galleon or two (million).

* * *

Briskly walking down the lane to the House the following day, Hermione was joyfully met by a muddy-footed border collie, moments later coming face-to-face with Severus. He tried to choke back his amusement at the paw prints all over Hermione's boobs but failed spectacularly. The sight of Snape pointing and laughing at her tits made Hermione feel a tiny bit miffed, but she decided that when dealing with a brand new boss, discretion was the better part of valour. She could always hex him good and proper if it happened again.

Turning to walk with Hermione towards the House, Snape discretely wiped his eyes and nose on his shirtsleeves and asked if she'd been coming to see him.

'Actually, I was on my way to visit Draco,' she replied. 'I'd like to buy a house somewhere reasonably close, but Harry didn't reckon there was much hope. I thought Draco might have a bit of local knowledge about the property market.'

'You're going to settle round here?' Severus asked – his voice a good octave higher than usual.

'Mmm, I hate living in London; it's too crowded and noisy, and we couldn't afford anywhere nice. Ron likes being near the Ministry, though, because he's crap at Apparating further than a mile, and Floo'ing to work isn't cool.

'One of the things I liked most about Hogwarts was the grounds and the remoteness of the place,' Hermione continued. 'Would have been better if I hadn't been forced to share it with seven hundred adolescents, though.'

'You would have loved it during the summer holidays, then,' said Severus. 'It was wonderfully peaceful without the students. The castle is so big you can wander about for a whole day without seeing another person.' He smiled at the thought.

'Do you miss it?' Hermione asked (quite bravely, she thought).

'I miss the summers, and I miss talking to Poppy every day at mealtimes. Getting all the gossip from her about student relationships, and all the argument driven hexing was hilarious. I don't miss teaching idiots, marking, insomnia, being terrified that you three would manage to initiate an irreversibly monumental fuck-up, being terrified that I would get found out, those _miserable_ bloody dungeons, or Albus' attempts at Machiavellian strategy.'

Hermione wasn't sure whether to chuckle at the light tone of his words or apologise profusely. She sighed and put a hand out to pat Severus' shoulder in sympathy. Without pausing, he caught it and drew her arm through his. Hermione forgot to look where she was going, stumbled, and would have pulled Snape over if he hadn't reacted quickly and hauled her up off the floor like a recalcitrant toddler. Thoroughly discomforted, Hermione shook herself free and squeaked an apology, surging ahead in an attempt to hide her pulsating blush.

Severus allowed himself an internal and utterly un-Snape'ish whimper. Surely she didn't find his touch so hideous it _made her fall over?_ He'd got away with a kiss on the cheek last night, and she hadn't been that pissed. He gazed longingly at Hermione's bum as she marched up the drive in front of him, managing to lift his eyes just in time as she turned to ask where Draco was.

'Try his office. You go through the front door, and it's the first door on your left. I've set the wards to recognise you; the password is "Eastenders". I'll make some coffee and bring it through, but I'd better clean Sek up first; Draco is rather precious about paw prints on the carpet.'

'Eastenders, as in the Muggle soap opera?' Hermione smirked.

'I lost a bet with Potter. Piss off.'

* * *

Surprisingly, Draco pondered Hermione's request with every appearance of seriousness. What she didn't know was that Draco was desperately thinking of the best strategy for ensuring unlimited Neville-nooky. Would it be better to have Hermione live a long distance away (she might tend to stay over at the House)? Or, would it be better to have her close by, so Snape might end up staying over at Hermione's, leaving the House free? Draco weighed up the options and decided that the chance to have the House all to himself from time to time was too good to miss.

'Severus, could we have a quick word?' Draco asked his housemate, as he arrived with a coffee.

Snape raised an eyebrow at the request and motioned towards the door. Hermione couldn't hear anything of the conversation that followed. Obviously these two were better at ensuring privacy than Harry, as well as at bothering to set security wards. Five minutes later, an expressionless Severus and a smug Draco re-entered the office.

'Come with us sweetheart. We have something you might be interested to see,' drawled Draco.

They walked through the House towards the kitchen. Hermione got a glimpse of a large room with high ceilings and tall bookshelves through a half-open door. She nearly managed an abrupt detour into the room, but Draco slid between girl and door, blocking the entrance with a charming smile and saying, 'Not now darling, just follow Severus.'

Exiting through the boot-room, Snape turned to the right and walked around the side of the house. Hermione jogged to catch up. She hadn't been this way before, and her inquisitive nature took over. Behind the house, on the other side from the herb gardens and the river, the land began to rise towards a large copse set near the top of the valley side. A little footpath wound its way up the grassy hill for a quarter of a mile or so. Snape's long legs made the walk seem effortless, but both Hermione and Draco were slightly out of puff by the time they reached the edge of the wood.

'There you go!' exclaimed Draco, pointing to the right. 'The old gamekeeper's cottage. Seems rather fitting as you and Hagrid have similar hair.'

Hermione followed his gaze and let out an appreciative sigh. Right at the edge of the wood was a little one-story thatched building, with arched windows set just under the eaves and a charmingly rustic appearance. Closer examination revealed holes in the thatch, two broken windows and a suspicious crack in the wall above the door. However, in the manner of countless first-time buyers, Hermione appeared to be sold on the dream at her first glance. She hurried towards the cottage, trailed by Draco and Snape (who both rolled their eyes and exchanged amused grimaces; this was going to be a cinch).

The first thing Hermione did was walk twice around the outside of the building. The overgrown remains of a garden struggled to show itself through a tangle of brambles, but she dismissed that (after all, she was friends with a Herbology professor) and concentrated on structure and size. Draco was startled when Hermione conjured her self-inking quill and a book of blank parchment out of thin air and started furiously making notes on her second circuit. After scribbling across several pages, Hermione turned a mega-watt smile on the pair of men and cooed, 'Isn't this cute! Is it okay for me to go inside?'

Rather than getting suspicious about Hermione's sudden attack of girliness (which he should have done), Severus grinned back, aimed his wand at the door and silently opened it. 'By all means; that's what you're here for,' he said smoothly.

Hermione bustled forwards and entered the filthiest room she'd ever seen. To the left, an ancient, blackened fireplace was flanked by web-clogged shelves. Light from the two broken windows shone upon water damaged walls and a moss-coated flagstone floor. Looking up, Hermione saw beautiful (rotten, web-swathed) wooden beams that somehow still managed to hold up the thatched roof. To the right, the remains of an old stove and a cracked sink set in a wooden counter indicated a rudimentary kitchen area; over the sink, there was another broken window.

Straightening her shoulders, Hermione walked through to a second room. It was the same size as the first and held a sagging, stinking bed – this time flanked by arched windows that would have overlooked the copse, if they hadn't been so grimy. The roof beams were rotten in here, too, and there was absolutely no evidence of a bathroom. Hermione remembered seeing a water pump and a broken-down little shed, which would probably turn out to be a privy, at the back of the cottage. She shivered reflexively, took a deep breath and began to scribble more notes.

Eventually, Severus and Draco ventured inside, and Hermione found them unhappily surveying the dank, filth-encrusted living space. She allowed the silence to build up to an uncomfortable level, and then launched her attack. 'Well, it's got a certain charm, and I daresay some potential, but are you seriously suggesting I _buy_ this place off you?'

Draco started out of his gloomy reverie. 'Erm, I'm afraid I've never actually been inside before,' he mumbled.

'Neither have I,' added Snape, who was actually looking faintly embarrassed.

Hermione inwardly ran around with her arms in the air, yelling, "YES! SUCKERED!"

'Well, why don't I go away and get some quotes and things? I know someone who might be able to help. We might be able to work some sort of deal out.'

Draco actually looked grateful for probably the second time in his life (the first being when Remus came to release him and Severus from Azkaban). 'Do you think so?' he asked more cheerfully.

'I can certainly find out,' Hermione replied with a condescending smile.

'Let's get out of this shit-hole. I'm about to start sneezing,' Snape sneered. 'So much for your fabulous idea, Draco. This place is a complete mess!'

Hermione felt the Sesame Street Count rise up inside her, _ah ah aaah!_ Little did these two idiots know that since the end of the war, Mundungus Fletcher had been making an effort to stay on the straight and narrow – largely due to the threat of Harry's vengeance if he didn't. In a supremely unlikely partnership, Dung and Hermione's parents had begun to buy up run-down houses and old farm buildings from grateful Muggles. Dung did them up (with the aid of a spot of magic and some well-paid house elves) before selling them for a whacking great profit.

This little project would be a piece of piss for them. Hermione could get the cottage for next to nothing, pay for the renovations and end up with a charming home of her own, worth far more than she'd paid. The chance to live so close to Severus and the Potters, and diddle a wealth-obsessed Draco out of some serious cash, was an added bonus.

* * *

During the following week, Hermione had a very productive meeting with Dung and her Mum and Dad. Her parents were secretly relieved that she'd finally chucked Ron (they'd always thought he was a bit too dim and lazy for their darling daughter) and only too happy to help her make the first step onto the property ladder. Hermione also endured a slightly more fractious encounter with the Mortgage Department at Gringotts.

In the spirit of Plotting, she proceeded to re-acquaint herself with a few of the Healers she'd trained with, who were now scattered throughout the different departments at St Mungo's.

On her next day off, after much begging and pleading with her wine-buff Dad, Hermione managed to cajole a couple of bottles of 1981 Chateau Margaux out of him. She triumphantly Apparated back to the Cottage to prepare for a spot of ball-breaking property dealing. A few hours later, shiny-haired and wearing a rather pretty green dress, filched from Ginny's pre-baby wardrobe, Hermione traipsed up the drive of the House – carefully carrying two bottles of _very_ expensive wine and her notebook in a basket.

She found Draco and Snape sitting in the kitchen, just finishing a dinner of steak and chips. She had managed a quick word with Winky earlier in the week, and under the eagle eyes of the house-elf, the two men had been restricted to tea, coffee and pumpkin juice for three days. The appearance of two bottles of superb Bordeaux caused a reaction like an oasis in a nasty hot desert.

Draco whistled up a corkscrew and three glasses before Hermione had time to sit down, but insisted on leaving the wine to breath for a while. It was perfect – the two of them would be nicely distracted by the thought of posh drinkies. Hermione didn't realise that Snape was so distracted by the sight of her, radiant and prettily dressed, that he'd shoved his chair as close to the table as possible and was staring fixedly at the wine bottles, avoiding speech in case he squeaked.

'Well, while we wait, I'll tell you what the builders said,' Hermione chirped, flicking open her notebook in a business-like manner. 'First off, the cottage needs a new thatched roof, and any rotten beams would have to be replaced. The walls need drying out, repairing and sealing against damp; plus all the doors, windows and guttering need replacing.

'An extension at the back would be required for a guest room, utility room and a bathroom, along with new drainage,' Hermione continued ruthlessly. 'Also, it could do with some sort of front porch for coats and things. Half the flagstone floor needs lifting and re-setting, a new kitchen has to be fitted and several trees at the back of the cottage need felling, for safety reasons.' She paused for breath and noticed Draco wincing horribly.

Severus dragged his attention away from the wine bottles and looked at Hermione before carefully crossing his legs. 'Sounds like an impossible job when confidentiality is so vital,' he sighed.

'I may have found a way to deal with that,' Hermione replied, desperately trying not to look too cheerful. 'A friend of mine does a spot of building work, and he would be able to Apparate to and from the sight without ever coming too close to here. If you're worried about security, you could set anti-Apparition wards around the house and garden.'

Snape eyed Hermione with sudden intensity and appeared to be thinking hard about something. Draco looked impressed; finding a builder was always a complete bugger.

'Oh, you can't Apparate here anyway, but is it worth all that work?' he asked.

'That would depend on how much you'd sell the cottage to me for.'

Hermione appeared to have borrowed Draco's shark-like expression. Naturally, Snape was entranced.

Realising that Severus was having difficulty preventing himself from drooling, and would probably have given Hermione the cottage for free if he had the chance, Draco hastily began bargaining.

'20,000 Galleons,' he suggested, aiming wildly high in the vague hope that Granger was silly after all.

'Draco, that's over £100,000,' Hermione retorted sharply, shattering Draco's hopes. 'I'll be lucky if the place is worth much more _after_ it's done up, and it won't be worth anything at all if you leave it to rot for another five years.' Under the table, she crossed her fingers.

'15,000, then.'

'Be serious! The work required will cost 20,000!' Hermione mentally added twenty percent to the quote Dung had given her. 'I'll give you 8,000 for the cottage, and that's more than its worth.'

Draco's usual _sang froid_ deserted him as he spluttered. 'Eight? E_ight!_ You must be bloody joking!' He eyed the wine longingly.

'Well, you should have boarded up those windows and fixed the roof,' said Hermione with a frown. 'The place is rotting to pieces, and that's expensive to fix.'

Severus cleared his throat. He didn't want Hermione frowning when she could be smiling. At him. 'Draco, do stop caterwauling. I suggest an even 10,000 Galleons, and you can make sure Neville sorts out the garden.'

Snape's efforts were paid back, with interest. Hermione beamed at him from across the table, tucked her curly hair behind one ear and stuck her hand out at Snape. 'Deal!' she managed to croak, as Severus gently enveloped her little brown hand with his long pale fingers.

Draco snorted. 'I think it's high time we all had a drink,' he observed.

Severus and Hermione ignored him. They were sitting, hands still clasped across the table, gazing at each other bemusedly. The glugging of wine hitting glassware eventually drew Hermione back to the present, and she released Severus' hand with what sounded suspiciously like a sigh, blushingly accepting a glass from Draco. He clasped her other hand and, with a devilish grin in Snape's direction, bent his shiny golden head and softly kissed her knuckles. 'I suppose that anyone capable of laying their hands on this particular vintage is worth having around,' Draco murmured smoothly. 'Won't we be cosy together? I _must_ Floo Neville with the good news.'

Author's Notes:

1. I can't help thinking that Hermione's Dad's Bordeaux would have suffered dreadfully during Apparition, but I expect Draco would know the appropriate charms to rectify the matter.

2. For Galleons to pounds exchange rate reference, see Chapter 4.


	6. Chapter 6

Disclaimer: believe it or not, I'm sad enough to spend a Saturday afternoon constructing a timeline for this thing… for fun!

The Beta of Dreams, Melusin, has been working. Even while on holiday! We aim to please.

**Chapter 6: Dinners, Dinners and More Dinners…**

On the pretext of saying a fond farewell to her chums, Hermione spent the rest of her notice period doing the minimum amount of work she could get away with while wining and dining newly qualified Healers from as many departments as possible. The advantage to this strategy was that none of them had clocked up enough years to be cynical about their jobs, and all of them were eager to impart any nuggets of gossip they'd picked up at work.

After two weeks of serious eating, drinking and work-avoidance techniques, Hermione managed to compile a catalogue of forty or so potions-related cock-ups. About half involved overdoses (one poor chap had spent three weeks sleeping off the effects of a poorly brewed batch of sedative), the wrong potion (a dose of Liver Restorative had been nearly disastrous for a child with a wonky kidney), or unexpected side-effects (Blood Replenishing Potion was not supposed to turn the drinker bright green). What she really needed to do was find someone who worked for Carmine Scrimgeour. So far, no one had said anything, other than they'd not met Scrimgeour at all, and that the people who delivered potions seemed, "a bit stressed".

On her last day, Hermione quietly took her leave of her still-chuntering boss, had a quick shower in the grubby staff bathroom and emptied her locker. She was off to her final farewell dinner with a former Hufflepuff that she'd trained with called David Thimble.

While she was trying to concentrate on which pudding to order, Hermione received a heartfelt declaration of undying devotion. Her buoyant last-day-at-work mood thoroughly deflated, she reflected that the second bottle of wine had been a mistake and attempted to quell the young man's ardour.

'Dave, I'm sorry, but I've only just begun to get over Ron. I'm just not ready to start seeing anyone else yet,' Hermione pleaded, trying desperately not to say something cutting. She hadn't finished getting the gossip from him yet.

'That wanker never deserved you! When I think of the way he's been carrying on with that tart, Lavender, it makes me mad as hell!' David stormed, slurping his wine recklessly.

'What the _fuck_ are you talking about?' spat Hermione, bristling immediately (unexpected information once again having its effect).

This was the first she'd heard of Ron for weeks. Harry had remained oddly silent about his carrot-topped best mate, ever since his abrupt return from the Flat the night before he'd offered her a trial with the company. Meanwhile, Ginny had been carefully steering any Ron-related conversation in other directions. No sodding wonder if he'd taken up with that thick cow on the rebound!

'I'm sorry, Hermione,' David mumbled uncomfortably, gazing into his wineglass as if it held all the right answers. 'Rumour has it that Lavender made a move on Ron as soon as you'd disappeared. Where _have_ you been, anyway?'

'Staying with Harry and Ginny. How soon did Ron hook up with Lavender?'

'Um… I'm not sure, but my mate Wayne – the Potions whiz – is friends with Ernie Macmillan, and he told me that Dean Thomas told Ernie that Lavender's been all over Ron for ages whenever they're out at the Cauldron.'

With narrowed eyes, Hermione counted to ten slowly, letting her fury pulse through her veins and frizz up her hair with magically induced sparks. _The rotten, shitty, faithless little tosser! Acts all injured, then pulls another girl before I've finished packing my trunk!_

Having ordered and received a large slice of cheesecake, Hermione viciously stabbed it into bite-sized pieces and took a deep breath, drawing her focus back to a worried looking former Hufflepuff. 'Sorry, Dave, I didn't know about Lavender. Ron and I don't keep in touch.'

'Oh, bugger! I didn't mean to stir up any trouble. Is there any way I could make it up to you?' David eyed Hermione hopefully.

She swallowed a tasty mouthful of biscuit base, cocked an eyebrow and decided to dangle a carrot. 'I'll think about it… Is your mate Wayne Hopkins? He was in my NEWT Potions class.'

'Yeah, that's right. He worked really hard and got an 'O', and his Dad sorted him out with an apprenticeship. He's qualified now; his company supplies St Mungo's, you know.'

Bingo.

Hermione was tempted to kiss David Thimble's wonderful, informative lips, but she thought he might get too much of the wrong idea, so she settled for a smile and a bit of elbow-pressure induced cleavage instead. David got an eyeful and appreciated it.

'How is old Wayne, then? Is he married now?'

'Engaged to Padma Patil, actually. Very happy about it, too.'

'That _is_ good news. Maybe we could meet up with them for a drink sometime?'

Hermione's conscience experienced an unwelcome jolt at David's delighted expression. She'd have to play this one very, very carefully. One night out couldn't do too much damage, as long as she escaped before he tried to snog her or anything. Uncovering malpractice at St Mungo's was important and justified after all; it just happened to coincide nicely with securing her future as a wealthy witch. Hmmm…so this was what Slytherin school children were adept at. What a shame she hadn't been able to make friends with any of them; she could have learnt something…

After making plans to meet David for a drink with Wayne and Padma on Friday week (hastily suggesting the cocktail bar that had replaced Florean Fortescue's instead of Ron's local, the Leaky Cauldron), Hermione managed a wobbly Apparition back to the Cottage.

She had rather a lot to report, so Ginny Floo'ed Draco, and after a brief conference, dispatched Hedwig with letters for Remus and Tonks in the Lake District and Neville at Hogwarts. They'd been planning an early celebration of Harry's birthday that Saturday, and delivery of July's Wolfsbane was due on the Sunday. Neville and Tonks would already have arranged time off; it was perfect cover for a council of war.

* * *

Hermione spent Saturday morning checking out Mundungus' progress at the gamekeeper's cottage. A team of three house-elves had expertly Banished all the old thatch. The walls and roof of the extension had been constructed and the old walls repaired. Drainage and a septic tank were in place, and the elves were now busy replacing the original building's rotten roof struts and supporting beams.

An awed Muggle-born watched as the trunks of two oak trees from the edge of the wood were split and shaped by elfish magic, then seasoned carefully with a series of spells by a pipe-chewing Dung. One by one, the elves levitated the new beams into place with wide-eyed concentration. After the last piece of oak was secure, Dung aimed his wand at an enormous pile of straw and muttered a string of incantations. The straw flew into the air, spiralling like a mini tornado before flumping into place on the roof. The elves each waved their spindly-fingered hands, trimming and shaping the thatch neatly before adding various pegs and ties.

Hermione was ecstatic. Building work proceeding on schedule and apparently within budget? There were some things she _really_ loved about the Magical world. She'd brought a lunch of Harry's Cornish pasties, and raspberries from the Cottage garden and sat on the ground happily munching with the three tired elves while Dung settled himself into an ancient deckchair he'd Summoned out of the brambles.

'Reckon we'll be done in a week,' growled Mundungus, spitting pastry into his beard in the process. 'Take it Snape don't mind another of you lot livin' so close?'

Hermione choked horribly on her pasty and helplessly gasped for breath until finally a sly looking elf raised a finger in her direction and did something that removed the blockage.

'Sorry, Dung, I don't know what you mean,' Hermione spluttered, grateful for air but terrified of activating the confidentiality agreement.

Mundungus laughed out loud at Hermione's discomfort. He pushed his grubby face towards her and winked with cartoon-like obviousness. 'Where d'you think the ol' bugger ended up when ee couldn't get work, girlie?' he enquired with a knowing grin.

Hermione met his gaze thoughtfully. She hadn't really considered the year between the capture of Fenrir Greyback and the rise of the Phoenix Feathers. She certainly couldn't imagine a skint and humble Snape turning to Mundungus Fletcher for help.

'Walks into my house one day, calm as you like, with these three scallywags in tow an' says he'd no use for them any more, an' ee reckoned I might,' said Dung with a satisfied expression. 'Said that for a finder's fee ee'd let me have 'em, an' they was all well trained at buildin' work.'

'We did a lovely job on that library,' croaked a less sly, but very battered elf, fondly gazing at the Tudor manor house below them. 'Master Snape was ever so particular about it, and he shouted ever so loud when he was giving orders!'

'Seems like young Malfoy 'ad the money, and ol' Snapey found the place ee wanted to live,' continued Dung. 'Found this lot locked up an' starving when ee searched their 'ouses for that werewolf Death Eater and his pals. Said ee'd let 'em go and keep quiet about it, if they'd repay the favour when ee asked.'

Hermione couldn't believe what she was hearing. Her happy, affluent parents had joyfully sold their dental practice and taken up part-time property development on the back of three house-elves that owed their lives and training to _Snape_.

'Well, it was nice of him to take care of you and make sure you found good jobs,' said Hermione shakily, gazing at each of the elves in turn. They all nodded vigorously in reply, ears flapping wildly.

'Master Snape is our hero!' squeaked the third elf, earning a scornful glance from the sly-boots with the magic finger. 'We is wanting him to be happy and free, and we is stopping anyone from hurting Master Snape!' finished the squeaky elf fiercely, before gulping down a handful of raspberries.

'Well, that's very nice of you,' replied Hermione. 'I expect he is very happy now, in his beautiful house.' She stared at the distant red-slated roof and spiralling chimney stacks and smiled at something that had obviously crossed her mind.

Dung eyed Hermione with keen interest. Something was going on with this girl, but he wasn't sure what. It might be worth keeping a watchful eye on her for her parents' sake. He was a successful wizard with a nice house on Diagon Alley – thanks to the Grangers' capital – so he owed them a favour.

* * *

On her return to the Cottage, Hermione indulged in a long bath and lay daydreaming about Severus (who was obviously her Ideal Man – he'd done more for house-elves than she'd ever managed, for crying out loud) until her fingers went wrinkly.

While carefully winding her damp hair around her wand and casting drying and setting charms, she decided to wear jeans and a (rather tight) t-shirt. Today, she had shiny corkscrew curls, and it wouldn't do to make too obvious an effort every time she saw Snape, after all. One look at Ginny's dark blue dress and Harry's black trousers and burgundy shirt led to a string of expletives and a rapid change of plans, however. Ginny's green dress was dragged out of her wardrobe for another airing.

Hermione was still occupying the Potters' guestroom, so Remus and Tonks were staying with Draco, Neville and Snape. Two and a bit Potters, plus one Granger and a big pot of casserole, Floo'ed to the House at five because it was pissing down with rain. Hermione immediately scuttled down to the cellar to see whether Snape needed a hand with that month's Wolfsbane. At the sound of sandals on stone stairs, Severus turned to face Hermione and promptly dropped a large box-full of fresh green peppercorns all over the floor.

'Bloody, _fuck!_' he stormed furiously.

'Oh, Severus, I'm really sorry. I didn't mean to startle you,' exclaimed Hermione repentantly. Then she noticed his black fitted shirt and instinctively drew her shoulders back a couple of inches. 'You look nice,' she blurted.

The fire of Snape's embarrassed rage died in an instant, and to Hermione's astonishment he lowered his chin to glance at his torso before cocking a hopeful eyebrow in her direction.

'Do you think so? It doesn't "flow" like my old dress robes.'

'Thank heavens for that! It shows off your shoulders better than robes.'

'Not too tight? Draco suggested it, and I'm not sure I trust his judgement. He won't even let me tuck it in.'

'Not too tight at all, and it's not supposed to be tucked in. It looks just right like that.'

Absurdly chuffed potions manufacturer grinned unrestrainedly at suddenly breathless Healer and did a little twirl, crunching peppercorns under his boots. Hermione burst out laughing, leaning helplessly against the cellar wall.

'Much as I relish being an object of your amusement, I need to clean up this mess,' Snape cut dryly through Hermione's sniffles of mirth.

'Okay, pick up that box, stay very still and I'll help,' she replied.

A swish and flick had all the peppercorns up in the air, floating in space like a little green galaxy. A wave in the direction of Severus, and they poured back into their cardboard box.

Snape had finished the Wolfsbane Potion already, so Hermione ended up helping him to pickle all the green peppercorns – for the inevitable glut of Pepper Up orders come the autumn. They avoided talking about the results of her investigations, and instead began to sort out their rota. After a semi-friendly row about which nights Snape wanted to work (no bloody way was she going to cover more than three in a row), they sealed the last jar and carried a peck of pickled pepper to the large store cupboard in the middle laboratory.

It was wonderful to see all the neatly catalogued ingredients and breathe in the scent of spicy aftershave in the enclosed space of the cupboard. Hermione couldn't wait to start working with Snape, and she very charmingly told him so with a smile that made Severus' poor heart flutter with hope. On their way up for dinner, he chivalrously opened the door for another person, for possibly the first time in his life – and got a perfect view of Hermione's lovely bum swaying up the cellar stairs in front of him in reward.

* * *

Over Draco's watercress soup and Harry's chicken casserole, Hermione told her colleagues what she'd found out so far. Tonks was jubilant. There was enough information to force the Ministry to open a formal investigation – if more surreptitious methods of dislodging Carmine Scrimgeour didn't work. The Aurors would be involved if that happened, so there was always a chance that Tonks could get herself assigned and let Ginny know exactly who to approach about taking over the contract.

This was excellent news as far as Hermione was concerned; she could cancel her date with David Thimble and concentrate on homemaking, potions making and Snape hunting. Harry, on the other hand, wanted to be a lot sneakier about things. He thought that if Hermione could find evidence of fuck-ups that Carmine should have been aware of, they could quietly blackmail him into retirement and St Mungo's into a favourable and confidential deal.

Hermione began to wonder how similar Harry would be to Dumbledore by the time he was a hundred years old. There was a slightly manic twinkle in his green eyes when he outlined his plan, and Hermione wasn't the only person sat at the dining table eying the 'Boy-Who-Cooked' nervously. Catching Ginny's eye, Hermione mouthed, "Dumbledore" silently, pointing at Harry. She was rewarded with a vigorous shake of the head from Ginny, who grinned evilly, pointed at Harry then herself and rubbed the tip of her thumb firmly against the tablecloth. Tonks and Hermione sniggered appreciatively. Remus and Snape looked mildly worried.

'Go for drinks with Thimble, have a nice conversation with this Wayne bloke and find out what he thinks of Carmine Scrimgeour. If it's bad, then we can think about cutting Wayne in on a deal,' proposed Harry grandly.

'How exactly am I supposed to do that without raising suspicion?' enquired Hermione sceptically. 'I can't say I'm working for a potions company or he'll immediately start asking about it – and he knows the business.'

'He's a bloke. Act all wide-eyed and girlie and, "Aren't you clever!" about it. He'll be only too pleased to tell you how much better than his boss he is,' said Tonks.

Harry and Ginny snorted indecorously. 'That would be the one thing absolutely guaranteed to raise suspicion,' giggled Ginny. 'Hermione can't _do_ dumb and flirty. She shared a dormitory with Padma's twin for six years. Padma would twig that something was up, or get worried Hermione was ill, in less than a minute!'

'Can't act dumb and flirty, my arse!' exclaimed Draco. 'You should have seen the stunt she pulled over the cottage we sold her.'

Harry and Ginny looked very sceptical. Remus merely looked speculative. He'd been out on the piss with Ron and Bill Weasley one or twice and knew that when the mood took her, Hermione was a bit of a goer.

'Actually, Draco's right,' Hermione snapped. 'I can flirt if need be.' She tried and tried not to look at Snape after she spoke, but compulsively her eyes met his and her uncontrollable left eyebrow shifted infinitesimally upwards.

'Hermione, a well aimed Stunner followed by a selectively targeted Rennervate does not constitute flirting,' Harry mercilessly teased; he could remember Ron's dazed (and frightened) confession the morning after their NEWTs results arrived very well.

'Fuck, Harry! We're supposed to be talking about digging the dirt on Scrimgeour, not my disastrous love life.' Hermione exploded. 'After listening to David's oh-so-interesting comments about Ron, you and me and Ginny will be having a little chat about that anyway,' she added pointedly, freezing Harry's smile in an instant.

'Why don't you ask Wayne what his job is like and say you're interested in something similar?' suggested Neville shyly.

'A much more sensible proposal,' agreed Snape. He didn't want Hermione flirting with anyone other than himself, thank you very much.

'Imply that you think Mr Hopkins' job must be terribly interesting and see if he drops any crumbs. He'll probably try and be loyal to Scrimgeour, so emphasise how important it is that patients get top-class potions. You'll have to appeal to that overgrown Hufflepuff sense of decency.'

'You remember him then?' asked Ginny inquisitively.

'Unlike you lot, he concentrated in class and didn't cause any trouble – of course I bloody remember him!' spat Severus, with a perfect school teacher scowl.

'I think, perhaps, it's time for a spot of birthday cake,' drawled Draco, at his most urbane.

A click of his fingers later, and an overeager Winky, carrying a huge chocolate fudge cake, appeared next to Harry's chair. All the girls sat up straight, then leant forwards in anticipation.

Au

thor's Notes:

1. According to the Harry Potter Lexicon, Hufflepuff Wayne Hopkins is on JKR's class list for Harry's year. He obviously would have, "worked really hard" to get an O in Potions. David Thimble is a Camillo addition.

2. Following Dobby's betrayal, I thought the Death Eaters would have found a way to prevent unauthorised house-elf Apparition. According to Deathly Hallows, I was wrong!


	7. Chapter 7

Disclaimer: Oh as if!

Thanks to Melusin for tirelessly controlling my scatter-shot comma placement!

**Chapter 7: Too Much Information**

On Sunday, Winky resumed baby-sitting duties, and Hermione found out just how unpleasant it was to spend four hours in the Floo network. After five soot-encrusting deliveries, she realised she'd definitely be earning her fat new salary at least one day of the month.

Snape seemed to be thoroughly enjoying her discomfort, smirking wickedly every time Hermione pulled her increasingly frizzy head out of the cellar fireplace. It took a monumental effort on her part to resist the urge to slap him. After all, she wasn't to know that he'd actually been enjoying the sight of her arse sticking out of his fireplace, rather than that of her ridiculous hair and filthy face.

Walking back to the Cottage, tired and dehydrated, Hermione forced Harry to admit that the night Ginny was in Paris he'd Floo'ed in on Ron and Lavender in a rather _compromising_ position. A flurry of swear words and some spectacular synchronised canary manoeuvres ensued. She had every right to be furious with Harry and Ginny for keeping her in the dark. At least seven unnecessary days had been spent feeling guilty about dumping Ron when they could have been spent thinking about how to pull Severus.

Because Monday would mark Hermione's first day of work as a potions maker, an early night was in order. She went upstairs for a nice bit of sulking, spent half an hour with her head encased in Sleakeasy's Emergency Hair Repair, had a shower and sank gratefully into bed with an Ikea catalogue she'd pinched from her Mum's house.

Deciding to eschew Floo use for as long as humanly possible, the next day Hermione donned her cagoule and walked through the early morning drizzle to the House. She was in time to gratefully receive a cup of much needed coffee from Neville before he walked out of the kitchen to go and collect an international Portkey to Athens (apparently, the Floo was generally out of favour). The company's stores of hellebore and asphodel were running low, and Neville was also hoping to get a couple of days in Crete to collect a load of Class-A dittany.

Amazingly, Draco was up, and even more amazingly, he seemed genuinely upset that Neville was leaving. Hermione watched wide-eyed with surprise (and envy) as a bare-footed Draco dashed out into the rain to give Neville an extra goodbye kiss. She refrained from taking the piss out of the subdued and shivering man who returned. He obviously loved his green-fingered boyfriend, and he was _really_ good at conjuring booze.

Snape explained the cataloguing system he had for the store cupboard (apparently Harry occasionally struggled with the concept of the alphabet) and said he'd hang around for the morning to make sure Hermione didn't foul up.

First up was a big batch of Liver Restorative – Irish wizards were just as keen on a little drop o' whiskey as their Muggle counterparts. While it simmered, there was time to knock out some Instant Sedation, and then for cheese and pickle sandwiches before taking Sekhmet for a quick walk. Hermione decided to join Severus for a bit of fresh air, explaining that it wasn't wise to constantly breathe the vapours of volatile ingredients. Every now and then she snuck a peek at him striding along in his wellies and waterproof robe – excepting the footwear, he looked almost as intimidating as he has done in his teaching robes. Funny how it hadn't seemed as attractive when she was sixteen.

An uneventful afternoon was leavened by a visit from Tonks (Remus was catching some extra sleep before his second night). She managed not to break anything and gave Hermione the low-down on some of their old Order chums. These days, Bill Weasley ran the twins' joke shop and had cleverly managed to prevent Fleur from pissing off the customers by getting her pregnant for a third time. Unsurprisingly, Molly Weasley wasn't too pleased with Hermione, which was fine; she had enough crap jumpers to last a lifetime.

The biggest news was that Hestia Jones was getting married. This pleased Hermione greatly. She'd been frantically running through her inventory of Witches Severus Might Have Shagged. Minerva (wrinkly), Lily Potter (married and dead), Narcissa (same), Bellatrix (icky, married _and_ dead), Emeline Vance (dead), Gwenog Jones (girlfriend of Professor Vector), Tonks (married) and Hestia (married) was a _very_ satisfactory list. Hermione made a mental note to send a generous wedding present.

At six, Severus turned up, checked that everything was still in one piece and told Hermione she could call it a day. They managed to eke out a further twenty minutes of mildly flirty verbal sparring, under the watchful and increasingly insightful eye of Tonks.

* * *

The week continued in much the same manner. On one of her days off, Hermione went back to the Flat, while Ron was at work, and painstakingly removed any evidence that she'd ever been there. Lavender had been at her perfume. _The slag!_ Hermione went to Boots and blew sixty quid on something different.

Being on-call and at the mercy of wand-paging again was a bit of a bummer, but at least there were no annoying patients to deal with. Three heart attacks, a stroke and the first Parisian emergency (an order for Kidney-Gro that Severus dragged himself out of bed to check up on), gave Hermione some much needed practice.

Inevitably, Friday night, and what Draco irritatingly referred to as, "Hermione's big date", drew close. Because neither of them had to concentrate much on some witch hazel, a wing and a prayer, Hermione received espionage instructions from Snape while they brewed the Hogwarts Acne Banisher.

'Buy him a really strong drink and keep him away from any bar snacks. Always ask open questions – nothing that can be answered, "yes" or "no". Watch his girlfriend while he talks. If he tells you anything different to what he's told her, she'll frown.'

That seemed quite straightforward.

'I don't suppose you've become a Legilimens in the last five years?'

Ah.

'No. I'm quite good at spotting lies, though. Patients always say that they haven't slept with someone else; they haven't been experimenting with animals or plants and they don't drink that much.'

'Well, that's a start… How are you going to handle Mr Thimble?'

'Um, I thought acting oblivious would work. And looking really upset if anyone mentions Ron and Lavender. And slapping, in the case of emergency.'

'Lavender Brown, _again?_'

Hermione scowled. Tactless bastard didn't have to snigger about it.

'My only advice is not to wear that green dress.'

'Oh bugger! That was the plan.'

'Well, you want to talk to Wayne Hopkins, not David bloody Thimble. You can't look too pretty or Miss Patil will run interference all night.'

The Sesame Street Count danced gaily down the cellar steps, circled their workbench with a twirl of his cape and bellowed, 'Ah…Ah…Ahhhhh!' in Hermione's left ear. The Snape hunt was positively, definitely, on track.

'Why don't you dig out a Weasley sweater? They're legendary, and it'll put that decent young Hufflepuff right off his stride.'

Urgh.

'Well, all right. But it had better be bloody worth it! And, I'll have to have the night off work.'

* * *

Thirty minutes in a crowded cocktail bar, wearing jeans and a red jumper, was enough to set anyone's teeth on edge. And their face aglow. And their hair a-frizz. Part one of The Plan had gone off rather well, though. Hermione managed to get the first round in, told the barman to get one for himself and asked if the cocktails could be good and strong. The barman tipped her the wink and willingly obliged. There wasn't much he could do to Hermione's sneaky pineapple juice, but the three supercharged Woo-Woos seemed to be having their intended effect on her companions.

After the obligatory schooldays reminiscence (why didn't other people appreciate the fact that it had mostly been nasty, scary and painful?), Hermione palmed David off on Padma and offered to help Wayne carry the next round. While waiting at the bar, she began her spiel.

'So what's it like, making potions for a living?'

'Oh, it's a job, you know…'

Excellent, he wasn't happy at work. Hello, Mr Barman, same again, please (wink).

'Of course, I used any number of potions at St Mungo's, but one doesn't really think how much effort goes into them all when one can Summon them at will.'

'No, I suppose not. The hours are pretty hard, but it's varied work.'

'Mmm, must be very interesting. They're such a _crucial_ aspect of healing, too! How did you get into it?'

'Well, Potions was my best NEWT, so I got an apprenticeship with the chap I work for now. He offered to keep me on, and what with the wedding and everything, it seemed sensible.'

So, Wayne was wishing he had another job. Better and better.

Hermione grabbed the right drink, followed Wayne to the table and talked to David for precisely two minutes about the hospital. Then she asked Padma an, "open question" about the wedding plans. After ensuring David's ear was thoroughly pinned, she continued on her quest.

'Do you brew for anywhere other than St Mungo's?' she asked.

'Er, no. We don't.'

Damn it! Severus was right about avoiding yes/no answers. Well, of course he was, with all his experience… _Focus woman!_

Padma finished her monologue on the merits of ivory versus cream and began to pay attention to Hermione's conversation. David looked a bit miffed. Hermione thought she'd better try again quickly before she got stuck cheering him up.

'I was wondering, actually. I got a good Potions NEWT, too, and I'm not working at St Mungo's any more,' Hermione began hesitantly. 'What's it really like in your trade? I mean, I did some medicinal brewing when I trained, but would I need to apprentice?'

For a brief moment, Wayne looked startled. He turned to face Hermione, who toyed with her swizzle-stick and kept half an eye on the bride-to-be.

'In most cases you'd need to apprentice, but with your experience you could probably get a junior position. Are you serious?'

'Actually, I am. I'm sorry to be pushy–'

Padma snorted.

'–but I was wondering if there might be anything coming up where you work?'

'I haven't heard of any jobs, I'm afraid,' said Wayne.

Hermione saw a hint of a frown cross Padma's face. She couldn't believe things were going so smoothly. This spying lark was much easier than it sounded. It was a shame she was so bloody hot, or she might have actually enjoyed it.

David smiled encouragingly at Hermione, who gulped down the rest of her juice and smiled back.

'Oh, look! Is it your round, Dave? I think I'll have a Woo-Woo this time, too.'

Padma shot Wayne a loaded stare and politely offered to help David with the drinks. As soon as they'd gone, Wayne began to talk in a slightly slurry undertone. Either he didn't get out much, or those cocktails must have been lethally strong.

'Listen, I expect you'd be really good at brewing professionally, but I don't think you'd get on very well where I work.'

Hermione pretended to look surprised. 'Why ever not?'

'My boss is a bit of an old dragon, and he sometimes isn't very nice to new people. I don't think he's very well, and he tends to take it out on the apprentice.'

To Hermione's Healer ears this loosely translated as, "He's a drunk and a complete, bullying bastard".

'Oh dear, that does sound a bit difficult. How are you affected by it?'

'After the wedding, I'm going to try and look for another job.'

'Blimey! If it's that bad, I definitely don't want to work there. How does the apprentice concentrate on their work if your boss is horrible to them?'

'Well, Scrimgeour tends to leave him to it most of the time, which is okay… I just find it really hard to keep track of exactly what we send out. If the boss is around, he won't let me double check anything.'

'Scrimgeour?'

'Yeah, the Minister's uncle, no less.'

'Fuck. So you don't want to make too much of a fuss, then?'

'Erm… No.'

Padma and David arrived at the table; Hermione took an extraordinarily well deserved slug of her cocktail and instantly wished she'd asked for a Mojito. She settled in for half an hour's smoothing of David's ruffles feathers, followed by a polite but effective brush-off. The bar got louder and hotter than ever, and after a while the pineapple juice began to have an inevitable effect.

'Excuse me!'

Jumper. Off. Now. How on _Earth_ had Molly knitted a mobile sauna? If the twins weren't five years dead, Hermione would have suspected their input. She squeezed past an array of braying drunken school leavers and headed towards the toilets.

Just as she'd been elbowed in the chest and splattered with vodka and pumpkin juice by a particularly inebriated eighteen year old (probably Gryffindor), Hermione noticed the door to the bar opening. To her dismay, Lavender Brown strode in, staggered slightly and began to make a beeline straight for the bar. Unfortunately, Hermione was in line with the shortest route, and following in Lavender's wake was a slightly ruffled, and obviously pissed, Ron.

Hermione let out the horrified, 'Fuck it!' associated with meeting an ex while not looking one's best and made a desperate dive for the ladies. She careened through the door and dashed into a blessedly, miraculously empty toilet cubicle. Having simultaneously wiggled her jeans over her hips and ripped the Weasley jumper-of-doom over her head, she sank onto the toilet, dropped her head in her hands and had a very long wee.

Realising that someone would eventually come and find her, Hermione began to tidy herself up. She carefully used her wand to suck the sweat and bits of red fluff from under her armpits and her face. Then she straightened the t-shirt she'd put on under the jumper – to minimise the itchiness – and plundered her jeans pockets for emergency hair bands. While this was going on, some girls came into the loo and stood waiting. In the manner of girls queuing in loos the world over, they began to gossip.

'How's it going, Lavender? I haven't seen you for a while,' Padma's voice echoed.

'Yeah, really good! I'm on a date with Ron.'

'Really? That's a bit quick – after Hermione, and all.'

'Nah, we've been seeing each other for a while. Harry Potter knows and everything!'

'Oh, right.'

'Bit embarrassing, really… Ron wanted to play, "dressing up", and Harry Floo'ed in on us.'

'Shit! What were you wearing?'

'Oh, nothing very kinky, just my old school uniform. The only odd thing was that Ron insisted that I put on this old Prefect's badge that he fished out of the dressing table.'

'Oh. Erm, Lavender... You do remember that Hermione was a Prefect until seventh year?'

'Too right. Bossy cow she was, and all. And dead jealous of me and Ron.'

That was it. Hermione blazed with a magical fury so powerful that somewhere in the Philippines a brand new volcano erupted into life. Lavender was clearly a hopeless case. Ron Weasley was a Dead Man.

Hermione stuffed the red jumper behind the water pipes at the back of the cubicle, knotted her hair back into a bun, hit the flush and opened the door. She smiled icily at the two horrified women and chirped brightly, 'All free now!'

Then she washed her hands, carefully dried them, threw her nose in the air and strolled out of the ladies very, very calmly. She politely took her leave of a startled David and Wayne, ordered a pint of iced Butterbeer from her pet barman and sauntered over to where Ron was sitting.

'RONALD WEASLEY!'

The hush was instantaneous. Hermione poured the pint over Ron's head and lowered her voice to a harsh growl.

'If you EVER come near me again, or cause me ANY bother in ANY way, I will Apparate directly to the Burrow and tell your Mum EXACTLY what you did with my prefect's badge a few weeks ago! THEN, I'll tell her that we did it doggy-style in her bed – _after your Dad's funeral._

Ron whimpered.

Hermione stalked out.

Author's Note:

Woo Woos are sickly. Mojitos taste much better and get you really pissed. Always drink responsibly, unless you're me. Or Melusin.


	8. Chapter 8

Disclaimer: insert appropriate text here.

Melusin is a fantastic Beta. If she was a Dark Lord, I would kneel and kiss the hem of her robes. Instead, I sing her praises to the sky. It annoys the neighbours, but it's easier on the joints.

The opening scene of this chapter continues directly from the end of the last chapter. Be warned. Some of the content is decidedly adult in nature. I've toned it down a bit for this site, the unedited version can be found at Ashwinder, but it's still naughty.

**Chapter 8: There's No Place like Home.**

Once again, Hermione Apparated to Wales in a huff. In her fury, she undershot slightly and appeared in the road leading towards Godric's Hollow (narrowly avoiding being _seen_ by a Muggle farmer, who was merrily drink-driving his way back home from the nearest pub).

It was about eleven o' clock, and she knew that some of the others would be waiting up at the Cottage to hear how things had gone. Unable to cope with facing other people, Hermione set out for a moonlit stroll towards the House. She really wanted to stand in front of her new home and confirm the fact that things like Prefects badges and the Ginger Twats who misused them were unimportant, in the grand scheme of things.

Half an hour later, having tripped over into some stinging nettles and trodden in a cowpat, Hermione reached the edge of the Copse. Candlelight twinkled through the arched windows of her house (mentally, she'd christened it, "The Lodge", in order to dissociate the place from the idea of gamekeepers and their hair).

Deciding this counted as a, "wand out" situation, she edged towards the nearest window and peered inside. Pressing her left cheek as hard as she could against the new glass, Hermione managed to spot the diminutive denim-clad rear end of a house-elf, sticking out of a brand new cupboard-under-the-sink. She heaved a sigh of relief and moved to the front door. Her front door. _Her_ very own, Weasley free, Potions making, Welsh countryside, front door.

Feeling much better already, Hermione knocked gently and heard a muffled thud and squeak as the house-elf jumped in surprise and whacked his head. The door opened, and she stepped onto a perfectly level, pristine flagstone floor.

'What are you doing here at this time of night?' Hermione asked the elf, who was rubbing his wrinkled forehead ruefully.

'Only a little bit of work left to do!' squeaked the elf.

'That's wonderful news, but I hope you haven't been working too hard.'

The elf drew himself up to his full two feet in height and smiled at Hermione worshipfully. The last time Hermione had seen that expression, Harry had just been presented with an Order of Merlin, and Dobby was in the crowd watching.

'Licky wants Miss to move here quickly!' The elf sighed happily.

'Er, right. Thanks, Licky. Why is that important?'

'We sees Miss with Master Snape in his garden at lunch times! Master Fletcher says that Master Snape is a lucky bugger to have Miss to eye up every day. Licky is wanting to help Master Snape eye Miss up as much as possible!'

Ah. So she wasn't Harry in this equation; she was the Order of Merlin. Not an unflattering analogy, really.

The door swung open again, and Hermione whirled around to face it, instinctively raising her wand. She was greeted with the sight of a furious Severus Snape being bowled over by the ecstatic leg-hug of a thoroughly overexcited Licky.

'Get your pervy little face out of my crotch!' yelled a horizontal Snape.

The elf clambered upright and lovingly helped Severus to his feet. At the look on his face, Hermione stifled her giggles.

'Where the bugger have you _been?_ We've been sat there waiting for hours. Do you have any _concept_ of what it's like to play chess with Harry?'

Hermione gulped. She did know, and the idea of Snape having to wait for ten minutes before Harry invariably made the worst possible move was not a happy one.

'I'm sorry. I had a run-in with Lavender and Ron and wanted some time to cool down.'

'So, I've been sat at the Cottage for three fucking hours, for absolutely no reason?'

'No! Everything went perfectly. I used to think you had a legitimate reason for being a miserable bastard, but now I'm not so sure! It was quite fun really.'

Severus flushed red and lowered his voice to a menacing sneer. 'If Wayne "Hufflepuff" Hopkins had realised that you were pumping him for information, he would have told you to fuck off. He wouldn't have hung you by your nipples while his pet snake ate you from the toes up!'

It was a good point, rather well made. Hermione sighed dramatically and crossed her goose-pimply arms.

'I'm sorry; I didn't mean to be glib. It's not that late, though. For all you knew, I could have gone out clubbing or something.'

'Then you should have Floo'ed to say. Or at least told one of us you were thinking of it.'

_What the fuck?_ That sounded just like the alarm call of the Lesser-Spotted Worried Bloke. If she didn't know better, she'd say that he was being over-protective.

'Fine. I'm here. I'm tired and cold and really dreadfully pissed off, and I can tell everyone what Wayne said tomorrow.'

Snape snorted. And then he took off his coat and draped it around Hermione's shoulders.

Licky's bare feet noisily flapped across the flagstones, and Hermione's awareness of the world beyond the Snape-warmed jacket broke the surface and gulped for air.

'Would Miss like to look 'round? Licky is just finishing this hot water tap.'

Hermione smiled shyly at Severus and nodded.

The stone fireplace was clean and laid with logs left over from making the new beams, which arched in a beautifully non-cobwebby manner overhead. The bookshelves shone with varnish, as did the windowsills. A dark blue Aga dominated the kitchen area. Hermione couldn't wait to buy some furniture. A nice squashy sofa would be just the thing. And perhaps a rug, and a table, and chairs, and a coffee table…

'Licky, is the bathroom plumbed in?' enquired Snape.

A bald green head emerged from under the sink and nodded. 'Oh yes, Master Snape, we is finishing it yesterday!'

'Right then, I need a pee,' announced Snape, and he disappeared through the door to the new extension.

Hermione waited for the sound of flushing and followed him. Part of the original bedroom had been turned into a corridor, which opened into the old room, the guest room, the bathroom and a utility room at the end. It was cosy, and clean, and new. A nifty bit of magic meant that things were rather more spacious on the inside than they looked from the outside.

She was standing in her bedroom, staring out of the window at the moon and wondering about what to do with the back garden when Severus joined her. He started to speak, cleared his throat and tried again. 'I'm… ahem! I'm sorry for shouting earlier. We were a bit worried when you didn't make it back by closing time.'

He tentatively put his hands on Hermione's suede-covered shoulders, and she leaned back against him, not daring to breath. Funny things were happening to her knees. She'd just about plucked up the courage to turn around when Severus murmured, 'I'd better take you back to the Cottage. The others will be going berserk; it's nearly one.'

Damn it! Knowing Harry, he'd be pacing around, rubbing his scar and talking about Aurors by now. Hermione turned to face Snape, who took a pace back immediately. They stared at each other for a long, long moment and then went back to the kitchen to say goodbye to Licky.

They Apparated back to the cottage for speed and found Harry sitting on the front steps looking worried and miffed.

'You'd better have a good excuse,' he snapped.

'I'm fine, thanks for asking. Mission completed successfully,' Hermione spat back.

'_So?_'

'Don't push it, Harry. I'm not in the mood. We'll talk about it tomorrow.'

Draco stuck his head out of the front door and grinned.

'Enjoy yourself, Granger?'

'Initially, yes. Later… no.'

'I see you've lost that ridiculous jumper,' said Draco, flicking a sideways glance at Snape.

'What happened?' asked Harry worriedly.

'I discovered that Ron tried to recreate, "Hogwarts, the Porn Years" with Lavender, and he used my Prefect's badge on her robes in the process.'

Draco yelped with laughter, and then with pain, as Ginny obviously did something violent behind the front door. Harry's eyes fell shut for a second before he grimaced sympathetically and patted Hermione gently on the shoulder.

Severus groaned. No wonder the girl was in a mood. Poppy'd laughingly told him that Hermione had pinned that badge to her pyjamas during various sojourns in the hospital wing. It was time for a tactical retreat.

'Come on, Draco, let's go. I'm surprised I haven't been Winky'ed yet.'

Snape turned and began his walk home. Draco waited a minute and turned to Hermione.

'Did you snog him?' he muttered.

'Who?' she croaked.

'Severus, of course!'

Oh, blimey. _Don't blush, don't blush, don't blush… arse!_

'No!'

Harry smirked at Draco, who grudgingly dug a fistful of Galleons out of his trouser pocket and handed them over.

'Severus must be losing his touch with the ladies. I'd keep that coat if I were you and make him _beg_ for its return.'

* * *

After five hours of poor-quality shuteye, Hermione dragged herself out of bed, into the shower and up the road to the house. Another bonus about moving to the Lodge was that the morning walk would be shorter, and crucially, downhill. When you're shit in the mornings, these things count.

The first lab was filled with linen bags full of drying plant material, so Hermione sleepily toddled through to the middle lab, dumped a plastic bag with Snape's coat in on a workbench and set to work on autopilot. She could hear Snape moving about in the store cupboard but steadfastly ignored him. After all, the bastard had got her all excited and hadn't even given her a kiss goodnight.

After the coffee, things were marginally more bearable, and when a French voice hailed Hermione from the fireplace, she dragged a polite smile onto her face and took the order for Ulcer-Away _tout d'suite_.

Snape emerged from the cupboard, took in the energetic status of his best-beloved and went to fetch some more coffee and a piece of cake. He was terribly anxious to stay in her good books. Given Hermione's fit of the wobbles during their moonlit interlude, Severus reckoned he was in with a fighting chance. In fact, if the memory of that lanky prick Weasley hadn't reared its freckle-ridden head at the wrong moment, he might have already managed a kiss goodnight.

The day passed in a haze of yawning and brewing (how dare people be ill on a Saturday), and at four, a startlingly cheerful Snape took pity on Hermione and sent her home for a nap. There was a "strategy meeting" scheduled for that evening, and he wanted her well rested for the after-meeting drinkies and chatting.

That night, it was decided that Ginny should approach Wayne and broach the subject of Scrimgeour disposal. With Snape's approval, the plan was to offer him a job, if the information he provided was sufficient to confront Carmine and force him into retirement. Privately, Severus was delighted. With the way things were heading, he definitely didn't want Hermione working all five nights a week that he was free. Weddings didn't come cheap. They'd give Wayne a bit of a pay rise, and most of the crap shifts, and he'd thank them for it.

Hermione passed all her notes over to Ginny and wondered out loud if there was any way of linking the sexist-boss-from-hell to Scrimgeour. He was in charge of all the Healers, so he must know about all the mistakes that got made. Draco said he'd make some discreet enquiries. Thanks to all the dirty tricks his Dad had pulled, Draco still had a few people by the short-and-curlies who knew all about corporate hospitality at the Quidditch, and exactly who used it for deal-brokering.

To both Severus' and Hermione's annoyance, Draco had just started to refill everyone's glasses when Winky appeared. A fight had broken out in O' Duggan's wizarding bar in Dublin. A well meaning but completely paralytic bystander had tried some first aid, and as a consequence, the hospital was fast running out of Skele-Gro. Snape frowned horribly and told Winky he would be there in ten minutes. He instructed a shuddering Draco to walk the dog before he went to bed and dashed out.

'That's another ten Galleons you owe me, Draco!' Harry crowed jubilantly.

'Hang on. That's not fair! There were uncontrollable circumstances.'

Hermione narrowed her eyes. She reckoned she'd been fairly subtle about the whole Snape-pulling thing. Gambling on her chances of a snog was bloody rude. Especially as her supposed best mate was apparently betting against it.

'You two can stop this right now. I can't believe you're betting on me!'

Ginny giggled. 'They aren't betting on you; they're betting on _Snape!_ You should have seen him last night when you were out. Draco kept winding him up about David Thimble getting you pissed and taking advantage. It was hilarious. Eventually he muttered something about, "making sure you were still conscious," and hared off!'

'_Really?_'

Neville chuckled. 'It wasn't just Draco stirring things up. Ginny was worse, I think. He's got it really bad, Hermione. I hope you're suitably prepared.'

Harry nodded in agreement.

'How long have you all known that he fancies me?'

Ginny looked at Harry, who looked at Neville, who looked at Draco.

'Clearly, a lot longer than you,' he said.

_Besotted, over-protective Snape_…

Hermione's eyes glazed over at the thought of being thoroughly bossed around by Severus. Or possibly being able to boss him around. Her friends eyed her curiously and pondered at the strangeness of the Universe.

* * *

While Hermione was walking to work on Sunday morning, an owl swooped down and dropped a grubby piece of parchment at her feet. The note informed her that the Lodge was ready for occupation, and that Dung would be around in the afternoon to hand over the keys and show her how to charm the hot water.

As a result, an abnormally perky witch arrived in the cellar and asked Severus if she could have an extra half hour at lunch time. In the spirit of, "sucking up to a potential girlfriend", Snape swallowed his sarky comment about not pushing her luck when it came to extra time off. Instead, he decided he'd go with her and make sure Dung didn't try and demand any extra money. It hadn't taken him very long to figure out who the Apparating builder was.

The wizard in question was sat in his deckchair, smoking his pipe, when Hermione and Snape trudged up to the Lodge. Mundungus wasn't at all surprised to see Severus; he wasn't surprised to see the covetous glances the man kept casting at Hermione's bottom, either. What did come as a bit of a shock, was the fact that Hermione was casting equally covetous glances in the direction of Snape's torso and (Mundungus flinched), a bit lower than that.

Working out the new boiler was relatively easy, and Severus and Hermione were just about to head back to the lab when Hermione spotted a horribly familiar, silver four-wheel drive in the distance. The car was towing a trailer, and it was heading up the road in the direction of the House. As Hermione let out a groan, the car pulled into a gateway at the bottom of the hill, and two people got out. They froze for a few seconds, then scrambled into each other's arms and started frantically kissing.

Mundungus Fletcher doubled over and honked with delighted laughter. Hermione cringed. Severus swore viciously and waved his wand at the House with a slashing gesture. The couple ground to a halt, mid-grope, and began to look around suspiciously. Dung hailed them with a shouted, 'Hellooooo!'

Hand in hand, Mr and Mrs Granger strolled across the field towards their darling daughter, their business partner and a tall, pale man with a jolly big nose.

'Interesting version of a Muggle-Repelling Charm!' called Mr Granger. 'Doesn't seem like your usual style though, Hermione.'

Severus reflected that there were probably better ways of making a good impression on the girl-whose-knickers-you-wanted-to-Banish's parents. 'Sorry, I'm afraid it's me you should blame, not Hermione. It seems a bit kinder than the usual forgotten appointment.'

'I'll say!' exclaimed Hermione's Mum enthusiastically.

Her husband smirked and raised his eyebrows at Snape.

'And you are…?'

'Severus Snape. I sold this place to Hermione.'

'Oh! We've heard of you. You seem to be doing very well for yourself, nowadays,' Hermione's Mum ruthlessly pried, casting an appraising glance at the very large house and garden at the bottom of the hill.

Snape stood up a bit straighter and gave Mrs Granger his most charming smile. Pre-Draco and his dental charms, it would have made her shrivel. Now it worked a treat.

'Business is good, thank you. It's lovely to have a few friendly neighbours in the area as well.'

Mr Granger's brows shot up again, but he stayed silent. The chap was a bit scary looking, but if the Missus approved, he wasn't about to throw a spanner in the works.

'We've brought you a few things – bit of a housewarming present.'

'Oh, Da-ad! You shouldn't have!' Hermione twittered, hastily hugging her parents before setting off at a rate of knots to check out the booty in the trailer.

Twenty minutes and a series of hovering charms later, Hermione had a nice new double bed, a bed-side table, a chair and a no longer empty set of kitchen cupboards. Snape made everyone a mug of tea, and Hermione's parents had a thorough nose about, satisfying themselves that everything was as it should be. Dung was thanked profusely, and entrusted with three Galleons for the house-elves before he left. Hermione's Dad said he'd check that they reached the intended destination.

'I should get back to work.' Hermione sighed, glancing at her watch. 'I'm already fifteen minutes late.'

'All right, darling, we'll be off,' her Mum replied. 'Don't forget to write soon. Lovely to meet you, Severus,' she finished with a meaningful glance in her husband's direction.

A little while later, Hermione finished rinsing out the tea mugs and turned to face Snape. To his surprise, she fixed him with a very dirty look.

'What the hell were you i_hinking?_ That Muggle-Repelling Charm must be responsible for half the un-planned pregnancies in Wales! It's hardly _kind._'

'What do you think the charm is designed to do?' asked Severus, who was fiddling with his wand nervously.

'Distract Muggles from your property by making them jump each other's bones! What if it's two people who aren't in a relationship? What if it was my Mum _and another bloke?_'

'That is _not_ the purpose of the charm!' exclaimed Severus.

'Well, what is?'

Severus sighed heavily. 'It simply causes an overwhelming desire in Muggles to seek out good company. Your parents reacted the way they did, because that's their definition of "good company".'

Hermione's jaw dropped. How could Severus Snape, miserable git and sarcastic bastard, have thought of something so… _friendly?_

'You're kidding?'

'No, I'm not. I've always thought the whole, "missed appointment, oven left on", thing was a bit nasty. How many car crashes do you think have been caused by anxious Muggles rushing off in a panic?'

Hermione chewed this little nugget over for a few seconds. The man had a point. Her Dad thoroughly resented the speeding fine, and three points on his driving licence, that were the result of a mad dash to the dental surgery after getting too close to the entrance to Knockturn Alley. An apology seemed to be in order.

She reached up and awkwardly patted Snape on his shoulder.

'I'm sorry. I just got a bit embarrassed. I thought you'd be disgusted with Mum and Dad – I know you're not a huge fan of Muggles.

Severus gently pulled Hermione into his arms and rested his chin on the top of her head.

'I'm not a big fan of alcoholic Muggles, who knock three types of shite out of their families on a regular basis. I doubt you are either.'

Hermione shook her head vigorously, managing to catch her hair on a shirt-button and making Snape chuckle at her predicament. He began to untangle the resulting mess, undoing half of his shirt in the process. Hermione avidly ogled every square inch of skin she could see without moving her head. Snape watched her doing it and grinned smugly.

Game on.

'If you think the charm is dodgy, I'll go and change things, but I'd rather stay here and have a cuddle with you,' he murmured.

A snuffle of laughter against his chest told him that the suggestion was not an unpleasant one, as far as Hermione was concerned.

'Doesn't sound like a _bad_ idea.' Her answer was half muffled by cotton shirt and wavy hair.

'Vertical… or horizontal?'

Hermione froze, then lifted her recently freed head to meet Severus' gaze. His dark eyes were almost gentle, but not quite. The fact that he hadn't tried to stick his tongue in her mouth seemed to indicate that he was not practicing Legilimency. The amused quirk of his lips suggested that, perhaps, he was.

'We could try out my new bed. I really should make sure it's comfy.'

'You really should,' said Snape seriously.

Five minutes later, they were lying on top of her brand new duvet. Severus cradled Hermione against his chest, his bottom arm looped around her waist so he could caress her lower back with his fingers. His top arm was wrapped around her shoulders, hand gently stroking her neck. A sigh, a slight wiggle and she was at peace. Snape's bottom arm began to fall asleep.

'Mattress seems okay,' murmured Hermione.

'Mmmm. Not too lumpy.'

Hermione shifted so she could see Severus' face, placing her hand over his heart, across the patch of black hair there. She felt the answering increase in his pulse rate.

'This is surprisingly relaxed,' she said gently.

'I know. It feels _natural,_' said Severus, who was trying not to look too pleased with himself. Hermione hadn't even moved into the Lodge yet, and he'd already managed to get into her bed – how smooth was he?

Hermione shifted again and kissed his lips gently. He instantly replied, flicking his tongue against her top lip. As her lower jaw relaxed, Hermione felt her lips tingle and swell slightly, and her heartbeat seemed to drive slow and heavy from eyes, to chest, to groin. _Thank God! He's not a crap kisser. Cabin crew, prepare for take-off!_

Severus took in a breath and rolled onto his back, bringing Hermione over him, so her knees slid to straddle his hips, and her hair dropped into his face. The freedom to be able to slide his hands down her back and over each cheek of her bottom raised a surge of jubilance in his chest. He pulled back her hair with both hands, waited for her to deal with the one she had shed across his nose and cheek and kissed her hard. It was really, _really_ good.

Between increasingly enthusiastic kisses, they began to undress, each shucking their own trousers and underwear, kicking clothes off the end of the bed. She was slightly quicker, so she turned to watch him clumsily kick his feet in the air and tug off his boxers. When he'd succeeded, with a satisfied grunt, Hermione swept an all-encompassing glance over black hair, old scars and blessedly neat toenails. To her private satisfaction, Severus was already erect, and the brown-pink-red of his cock contrasted obscenely with the blue-white-olive of skin and vein that stretched over his hip bones. She craned her neck to kiss the shell of his ear, licking very gently. Out of the corner of her eye, she watched goose-bumps roughen the silky smoothness of his skin. She smiled, exulting in the power she had, able to turn him on with one tiny kiss in the right place.

The moment when Severus turned on his side and pulled her against him was splendid. Toes, thighs, chests and midriffs slid sweetly against each other. They both gasped and then chuckled in mutual appreciation before tasting each other with more achingly hungry kisses. As Severus trickled his fingers down the length of her spine, Hermione lifted her thigh and wrapped it around him, pulling herself closer and tilting her pelvis towards him. She felt the familiar grinding sparks of need – her hips rocking instinctively, seeking more friction.

After taking the opportunity to hold the finest arse he'd ever beheld as it wantonly shifted back and forth, Severus rolled them over. He bent his head, trailing of gentle, tonguing kisses across her collarbone, and then down her left breast to her hardened nipple. He licked it and dragged his thumbnail gently over the moisture. Hermione sighed and clasped the back of his head softly as her back arched with pleasure. Responding to her prompting with satisfying haste, he slid his hand down over her stomach and in between her open legs. The warmth and the wetness were wonderfully sexy. He desperately wanted to lose himself in her depths. The anticipation made him groan and shift against her helplessly. She reached down and began to explore, mapping out his proportions with thumb and fingers.

_Fuck!_ That felt amazing.

'You're so beautiful,' he whispered, voice shivering as she stroked him. 'I want to fuck you so badly; I'm not sure how long I can wait. I'm not sure how long it'll last, though.'

Hermione snickered with amusement. 'If you last any time at all, I'll conclude you don't fancy me that much,' she whispered back.

Severus' constantly circling middle finger, combined with the absolute intent of his words, thrilled Hermione. He sat up slightly, causing her to release her hold on him. He stared greedily at her, open and exposed to him. He watched his own hands as they explored their new found land before glancing almost shyly at her face through the untidy strands of his hair. She smiled up at him eagerly. One extremely good memory was promptly stashed in his Wank Bank for later recall.

'I want to feel you inside me. I want more,' Hermione grumbled, reaching out and pulling Snape none-to-gently towards her, so he nearly lost balance.

Severus moved quickly, grabbing a pillow and shoving it under Hermione's arse. He knelt and shuffled awkwardly, positioning himself above her, knees sliding between her legs. She reached out and grasped him again so he winced dramatically and fell forwards, just managing to catch his weight on his hands on either side of her shoulders.

'Easy, tiger! I've only got one cock to spare, you know.'

'Quit moaning. I'm merely enthusiastic.'

Severus flexed his arms and bent to kiss Hermione again as he reflected on how, "randy as hell", might compare with, "merely enthusiastic". Dropping his weight against her body, he shifted his hips slightly, and she moved with him instinctively, forcing him inside her. They both groaned loudly and then stared at each other with wide eyes. Severus bucked his hips minutely, and their eyes slid shut.

'Holy _shit!_,' groaned Hermione. 'You feel so _good!_'

He tried to take things slowly and failed utterly. His hips took on a life of their own. Sweat broke out on Severus' skin, and his heart surged with love. She was so _sexy_. She was _his_. Oooh _bugger,_ he was going to _come!_

Resting his forehead on her shoulder, and helping things along considerably with insistantly fluttering fingers, Severus stilled his lower body, allowing Hermione to control their movement. She was properly chuffed. He was obviously on the verge of losing it (after a pretty feeble length of time), but he felt fucking awesome and was willing to make a real effort. With joy, she realised that she was probably going to come, and it was going to be _big_. Unable to stay still any longer, Severus was reacting to her movements, beginning to push against her, increasing the speed with which his wonderful, long fingers stroked her. They panted in unison and simultaneously reached for each others' mouths, licking each others' lips, half smiling, and half snarling with delight.

She got there first.

Just.

His body writhed as he followed a few sweet seconds later.

'Oh, darling. Oh, my love!' he groaned without thinking.

Brimming with satisfaction, Hermione laughed out loud. Here was a man who overcame first time nerves and made an effort. _And_ when he lost control over speech, said ridiculously romantic things. The sensations caused by her laughter made Severus shudder, so she clenched her internal muscles again, receiving a guttural wail in reply. Taking pity on him, Hermione tenderly cradled his head against her shoulder, revelling in his size and weight, and the sensation of rawness where his stubble had rasped over and over against her skin.

When they eventually shifted slightly, both felt strangely bereft at the separation. They met each others' lazy eyes and grinned at each other smugly.

'That was an excellent cuddle,' breathed Hermione.

'Breathtaking,' panted Severus.

Hermione laughed again at that and was overwhelmed by the warmth and sheer cockiness of Severus' answering smile.

'You realise; I'm now an hour late for work?'

'I'll let you off with a warning, this time.'

* * *

Please note: the word "sarky" is used in this chapter as an abbreviation of "sarcastic". It is not a typo.


	9. Chapter 9

Disclaimer: insert appropriate text here.

Huge thanks to Beta of Dreams, Melusin. She deserves a holiday…

**Chapter 9: Some Interesting Ideas.**

'What did you call me?'

'Oh dear, I got a bit carried away.'

'_What_ did you just call me?'

'Erm… "Professor", I _think_…' Hermione whimpered.

Severus hoisted himself up slowly from where he'd been hard at work, rubbing his chin and raising one eyebrow as high as he possibly could. He put a lot of effort into it. It's not every day you get to stare superciliously at the naked, fit bird in your bed. Probably, in fact, only when her temporary insanity is entirely above board, and all your fault.

'Is this something we need to explore? Are you planning to follow in Weasley's footsteps and demand that I dig out some threadbare black robes from the back of my wardrobe?'

'Shite, no! Unless you really want to.'

'If I saw you in school uniform, I would assume that your unauthorised tampering with time got a bit more out of hand than Albus sodding Dumbledore realised. Then I'd Stupefy you and Floo straight to the Ministry to drop you off.'

'Okay. No school robes.'

'If, on the other hand, you got your grubby little hands on a Holyhead Harpies uniform, I might be more interested.'

'Quidditch girl fantasy? I thought they were mostly lesbians?'

'Precisely. You told me last night you'd had naughty dreams about Ginny, but _not_ Harry.

'I'd had too much of Draco's Calvados last night, so you're not allowed to quote me. And don't ask me to find a willing girl to join in, or I'll hex you. I want you all to myself, and the way Licky sees it, I'm your Order of Merlin, so you should be satisfied.'

'Hmmmm. You mean I do loads of work, wait for ages and you never come?'

'That is demonstrably untrue! Thank fuck.'

'More like, thank Suck. And his close friends, Lick and Fingers.'

Snape grinned cockily at his deplorably hung-over bed companion and thought that he'd hold fire for the moment. His birthday wasn't until January, and the removal of a pair of tight leather Quidditch trousers from Hermione's bum would be worth the wait. Besides, she'd just made committed noises – a licence to act up, if she got any more ideas about flirting with any bloke other than him.

Although, thinking about it, he'd just allocated Granger nooky activity during _next year_. It occurred to Snape that he was feeling a tad committed, too.

Hermione put on her best spaniel-eyed look. 'Have you got any more hangover potions handy? I feel a relapse coming on.'

Severus scowled. He was warm, and comfy, and he thought he'd paid his dues for the morning. 'What's it worth?'

In reply, Hermione gazed pointedly at Snape's post-cunnilingus stiffy, licked her lips and examined the middle finger of her right hand very carefully. He was out of bed, and rummaging in the bathroom cabinet, within a minute. He wasn't under the thumb at all, merely good at negotiating. And she was a surprisingly dirty bitch.

Fifteen minutes later, an _incredibly_ smug Hermione lifted her head and looked up at a supine, cross-eyed, quietly keening Severus Snape.

'Coffee?' she said.

As he shakily wandered around the kitchen, fetching mugs and sugar, Snape told himself firmly that it had only been ten days since he and Hermione had got together, and he was _not_ under the thumb.

* * *

August was disappearing fast, and on the days that Hermione wasn't in the labs, she'd spent hours with Neville and a Panama-hatted, garden-gloved Draco, clipping and digging and sorting and packing various bits of plant. The boot room was full of trays of drying flowers, leaves and roots. The first lab was in the same state, and even the beams of the Lodge's living room were hung with bunches of herbs. This was quite pretty in a way, but not when earwigs dropped onto the brand-new sofa.

Because of the extra work from St Isabella's, and the summer scramble to stock up on ingredients, Severus had been working almost every day. Nominally, he had most nights off, but Hermione's infernally buzzing wand was enough to wake him up, if they were in the same bed. When she'd gone, he'd fidget for a while and then get up to have a nose at whatever she was brewing.

After the initial three nights of sex-between-emergencies, a bowlegged and tetchily knackered Hermione called a halt to proceedings. Following a day of sulking, due to Severus' spectacular ability to grab the wrong end of any stick in his vicinity, they agreed to spend most nights apart, and split those they spent together equally between the House and the Lodge. Lunchtimes were entertaining, though, and Sekhmet was getting a bit fat due to lack of exercise. The same could not be said for Severus and Hermione.

It was with a certain amount of relief that Hermione received the news from Ginny that she'd taken Padma Patil out for a boozy, and deliberately indiscreet, lunch. Padma was apparently all too keen to see Wayne established at the company he'd been desperately speculating about for months, regardless of who owned it. She was going to work on her fiancé for a few days and then owl Ginny to let her know whether Wayne would accept their terms.

Naturally, Ginny had got the details of Wayne's salary out of Padma before they'd even ordered food. By the time some much needed coffee was served, she'd also managed to convey the information that if Padma or Wayne breathed a word to anyone, Mr Hopkins would never find work again. Padma wasn't stupid; she was a former Ravenclaw. She realised instantaneously that if Severus Snape and Draco Malfoy were involved, all threats should be regarded as promises.

Remus and Tonks were cordially invited to a council of war on Tuesday night. Severus gleefully started to plan some more energetic nocturnal activities than were currently feasible. If the thought of snuggling up next to a terribly young witch and reading her extensive collection of detective fiction crossed his mind, he didn't mention it to anyone.

Two days later, Snape left Winky with strict instructions not to disturb him, unless it was a real emergency, and whistled up a very surprised Sekhmet. They stalked up the hill to fetch Hermione from the Lodge, and the three of them walked over to the Cottage, with occasional stoppages for Sek to chase after horrified rabbits. It was a fine evening, and once again a barbeque was planned.

At the Cottage, Neville and Draco were already making inroads into a nice Rioja that Draco had just got the hang of. Tonks was sat on the grass with Remus, playing with Arnold the Third. The emergence of Severus and his Hound of Hell through the back gate was, therefore, catastrophic.

In a vain attempt to save Arnold, Tonks swept him high in the air and promptly dropped him on the floor. Arnold put some cute and fluffy effort into scuttling away from danger, but got about two feet before he realised he was scampering straight into the jaws of a slightly peckish border collie.

Hermione haplessly lunged for the dog. Sekhmet dodged sideways and chewed frantically.

A shriek of fury from the kitchen door informed the assembled guests that Ginny was all too aware of the situation. She pulled her wand from her sleeve and swiped a series of Stinging Hexes in the direction of Severus and his dog. Sek dropped a half-eaten Arnold on the patio and howled in pain before fleeing the garden with her tail rammed between her legs. Severus covered his Crown Jewels with his hands and pleaded for mercy.

'Ow, _OW!_ Fuck! I'm sorry! I'm sorry! Stoppit! I didn't know you brought him outside!'

'You stupid arse!' (hex, hex) 'You should've checked before bringing that fucking animal within fifty,' (hex) 'bloody,' (hex) 'feet of this place! I'm going to slice your balls off and feed them to your sodding,' (hex) 'dog!'

It was time for Hermione to intervene.

'Don't you bloody dare! I'm the only one allowed to hex his balls off. We're sorry! If Tonks wasn't so clumsy, it wouldn't have happened.'

Tonks frowned, assimilated this universal truth and then shrugged apologetically. Hermione was quite scary when the mood took her, and so was Ginny. That sort of thing was best kept at work.

'She's right, Gin. I'm really sorry. I should have stayed inside with him.'

Neville was already digging a spade out of the garden shed. He returned shortly, nodded at Draco and scooped up the bloody remains of the Pygmy Puff.

'I'll go and bury him for you. It was so quick; he wouldn't have felt a thing.'

Draco hastily conjured a tumbler of Firewhisky and shoved it into Ginny's shaking hand.

'Never mind, sweetheart. Harry can Floo Bill and get you another one tonight. Gideon won't even realise.'

Harry appeared at the kitchen door, swept the scene with wide green eyes and looked at Severus enquiringly.

'I take it Sekhmet was introduced to _another_ of our Pygmy Puffs,' he said.

Snape nodded gloomily.

'I thought I told you to keep him inside, Ginny,' Harry complained to his seething wife.

Ginny downed her Firewhisky in one and gestured to Draco for a refill.

'You did. I forgot. Mention it again, and I'll treat you worse than Severus.'

Harry grabbed the Firewhisky and gulped it. Then he fetched a plateful of ribs and burgers and very quietly handed them to Remus to cook. Then he headed off to Floo Bill Weasley.

Hermione carefully took Severus' un-stung right hand and led him upstairs to the bathroom to find the strained Murtlap tentacles. She made soothing noises, got his shirt and trousers off to inspect and treat the damage, then kissed him better until he cheered up a bit.

While Severus got dressed again, Hermione glanced out of the bathroom window at the patio below and saw Harry return to the garden with two rather heavy bags of Galleons. He threw one at Remus, who deftly caught it and winked at Tonks. He passed the other to a chuckling Draco, who waved up at Hermione and blew a kiss before Severus could turn round and see.

* * *

After dinner, a reasonably mollified (and slightly squiffy) Ginny told them of the plan she'd cooked up with Padma and extracted a crumpled letter from the sheaf of Hermione's notes. Harry's shoulders slumped at the sight of it. Ginny shot a meaningful glance at Hermione, cleared her throat with Umbridge'esque clarity and began to read.

'"Dear Mr Potter… The annual charity Quidditch match, in aid of St Mungo's hospital, will be held on Sunday the 26th of August. The match commences at two pm and will be won on points if the Snitch is not captured by midnight.

'As I'm sure you are aware, it is traditional for the winners of the United Kingdom Quidditch League to play the team that was placed last. This year, the Tutshill Tornadoes play host to the Chudley Cannons.

'It is also tradition for each side to include a celebrity player in their team. Kirley Duke, of the Weird Sisters, will be joining the Tornadoes as their guest Beater. We would be very grateful if you would join the Cannons as their Seeker.

'Please could you reply, by Owl, to Herbert Snodley, Chairman of the St Mungo's Charity Board, London, NE2".'

Hermione reached over and grabbed the letter, reading it at pace. Herbert Snodley… the sexist-boss-from-hell.

Disco. Bingo. Hole-in-fucking-One.

'I'm not sure how this is relevant. They ask me every year,' began Harry sulkily.

'Yes, but this year, you're going to play,' said Hermione immediately. 'Fantastic idea Ginny, I know exactly what we should do!'

The others looked at her in expectant fear. They all knew that look. That look meant War.

Snape was fervently glad Hermione was on his side. He hadn't seen her with the light of battle in her eyes for just over five years. It was scary, and he'd named his hopelessly vicious dog in honour of it. Now, he was sleeping with the girl. To be brutally honest, he had a new-found respect for Ronald Weasley's stamina, and he completely _adored_ her. Severus made a silent vow to himself that, whatever she was planning, it was bloody well going to work. She might take her disappointment out on him, otherwise.

'Draco, can you find out which corporate box this charity board is using – and book the one next door in Harry's name?' continued Hermione.

Draco stared at Hermione and sucked in a pursed-lipped breath with a whoosh. He sat back, crossed his legs and regarded his beautifully manicured nails.

'It'll take every favour I'm owed, but yes. Harry, when you answer the letter, be sure to tell them it's on condition that your family and friends get a VIP box,' he said.

'Can you send Carmine Scrimgeour a horrendously flattering letter – with an invitation to an all-expenses paid afternoon in the Phoenix Feathers' corporate box as well?'

'Meaningless flattery is my speciality.'

'Good… Tonks, can you get Auror security assigned for the match? If Harry plays, you've got a good argument.'

'No problem. I'm the person who would make that decision, anyway.'

Hermione was amused. Tonks might not be able to safeguard the life of a Pygmy Puff with any success, but she'd clearly received a couple of promotions in the last five years. Such was the way of the Ministry of Magic.

'Excellent. Do it tomorrow afternoon, so Hedwig has time to get to St Mungo's first. Make sure you won't have to do much work on the day. To be on the safe side, we need your memory modification skills handy.'

Tonks fingered her wand lovingly and nodded.

'Neville, can you get your hair cut short and get yourself a sharp, black Muggle suit and some posh sunglasses? We need you looking big, and very mean.'

Draco looked like all his Christmases and birthdays had come at once.

'Don't worry. _I'll_ take care of Neville,' he drawled, eyes sparkling.

'Remus, the match is two days before the full moon. Can you clear your schedule and come too? We might need a friendly face to distract unwanted visitors to our box.'

Remus said that as the Quidditch didn't start until the afternoon, he could manage it.

'Ginny, Owl Padma and tell her that we've set up a meeting with Carmine Scrimgeour. Tell her, that as a gesture of goodwill, we're inviting her and Wayne to a day at the Quidditch.'

Ginny nodded and made a note of it.

'Right then,' said Hermione, grabbing a bit of parchment and conjuring her quill. 'This is what we do…'

Author's Notes:

A "fit bird" in Britain is not a turkey ready for Thanksgiving dinner. It is a highly desirable woman.

Many people will realise, that before the time of writing, I indulged in a re-read orgy of Dorothy L. Sayers' books. I now fancy Peter much more than I did when I was eighteen. I apologise for, and fully acknowledge the blatant plagiarism at the opening of this chapter. What can I say? He's got a big nose too.

No small fluffy animals were harmed during the writing of this chapter (well, not in my house anyway).


	10. Chapter 10

Disclaimer: Insert appropriate text here.

Huge thanks to Beta-of Dreams, Melusin, and a respectful nod towards Shiv5468 for introducing us and pointing many of you in this direction. Melusin worked incredibly quickly on all these chapters _and_ banged her drum in my honour. Keladry Lupin and Britt1975 have also been very supportive. It has been a delightful introduction to the weird and wonderful world of HG/SS.

**Chapter 10: Corporate Hospitality**

After an initial whinging fit (brought about entirely by a pathological hatred of the limelight – unless he was clearly the most talented person present), Harry threw himself into Quidditch practice. He enlisted Draco's aid, and the pair spent several days zipping around the garden and rooftop of the House like a pair of complete lunatics. The hours of training were brought to an abrupt halt when a pell-mell pursuit of Draco's professional-speed (and mercifully unsullied) Snitch, resulted in the demolition of Neville's runner beans and two irreparably shattered panes of greenhouse glass. Hermione watched through the kitchen window as Neville performed a spirited impression of Vernon Dursley in a state of apoplexy.

After Harry had apologised for the eighth time, Hermione administered a Calming Draught, Draco took Neville to Harrods and Selfridges for the rest of the day and Severus mysteriously managed to get hold of Licky and some new glass. Sadly, the runner beans had literally bitten the dust, and Winky disgusted Hermione by artfully draping herself in a tea-towel out of the kitchen drawer and chatting up Licky like an absolute pro.

Plans for what everybody began to refer to as, "Q-day" were successfully put in place, and Hermione pulled an exhausting double shift in order to prep most of the ingredients for the company's Wolfsbane. She was sat in the kitchen, eating lasagne at stupid-o'clock, when Remus arrived at the House _sans_ Tonks.

'Evening, Hermione. Working late? Or has Severus been tiring you out in other ways?'

Hermione shovelled a mouthful of pasta and sauce into her mouth, chewed and glowered.

'Wolfsbane, for two hundred. My fingers are blistered to fuck!'

Remus chuckled.

'Why do you think Severus palmed the job off on you? At least if everything goes well, you'll have Wayne to help.'

Hermione pulled a face.

'I hope we can pull this off. I feel like everybody is relying on me,' she mumbled.

'I think it'll be fine. If we can handle Voldemort, we can handle a pissed-up geriatric and a misogynistic wanker. Come with me, and I'll show you something that might cheer you up before bedtime.'

Hermione's curiosity was (obviously) piqued. She hastily finished her dinner and followed Remus out of the kitchen, down the corridor and into the room opposite Draco's office. Remus entered first, silently lighting candles as he went.

'Have you been in here before?' he asked quietly.

'No.'

'It's Severus' study. He used to sit in here all the time until things got so busy. Probably hasn't had any time at all, lately,' said Remus, giving Hermione an understanding smile and an entirely too understanding wink.

Mentally cursing the eager lewdness of men's minds, Hermione began to observe her surroundings. The dark, oak-panelled walls were obviously very old – probably remnants of the original decoration of the House. The indefinable but very scrummy scent of Snape hung in the air. Hermione took note of a battered leather chair behind an impressively untidy desk. On the desk was a single silver-framed photo.

'Have a look. You'll be surprised,' said Remus.

Hermione picked up the photo and let out a startled, 'Oh!' followed immediately by a gurgle of laughter. In the photo, a younger and thinner Snape was flanked by two identical teenaged boys. They all had mischievous expressions, and they all simultaneously stuffed what looked like custard creams into their mouths. With a puff of feathers, all three transformed into giant canaries. The cycle began again.

Hermione glanced up at Remus quizzically. 'How the _hell_ did they persuade him to do that?'

'Oh, there was no persuading about it. Fred and George were Snape's favourite students by miles. Their Potions skills were fantastic compared to the rest of the students' – even yours, I'm afraid – because they spent ages experimenting with stuff. He turned a blind eye to a lot of their antics, as long as he got the chance to check out what they'd invented before they sold it to anyone.'

'So why were their OWLs so bad?'

'The staff at Hogwarts reckoned that Molly took her eye off the ball, having so many young children to cope with. She left them to themselves too much. Their practical work was great; their written assignments were okay, but their exam papers were terrible. Couldn't cope with being split up, you see.'

'Bloody hell! That's awful.'

'Well, it would have been, if they'd given a shit. But they didn't. Good job, too, as it turns out. Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes keeps Bill, Fleur and the kids going nicely, and Arthur's got a healthy pension fund, now. He wouldn't have, if it was up to the Ministry.'

'Who _took_ this?'

'Lee Jordan. On Severus' camera, so he had the negative. He threatened them with a dose of untraceable poison if they told anyone else and asked them to remember him when they were millionaires.'

Hermione snorted. It rather smacked of Slughorn. 'Did they tell anyone?'

'Ginny. She got Severus to show Harry the photo, eventually.'

Snape was on-call, so after Hermione had gone upstairs for a sleepy goodnight kiss (or four), Remus walked her back to the Cottage. She joked that she now knew what to get Severus for Christmas – hastily adding the proviso of still being "together" at Christmas. Remus fixed Hermione with his most penetrating gaze (which wasn't a patch on Snape's).

'You do realise that Severus is behaving in a manner that none of us have ever witnessed, don't you?'

Hermione shook her head.

'Well, he is. He is smiling _at least_ once a day; he hasn't kicked Neville out all summer, and he has completely lost the ability to keep his eyes off you. It's actually a little bit frightening.

Hermione beamed.

* * *

"Q-day" was fine and sunny. After hearty breakfasts, Harry, Ginny and Draco flew south to Tutshill while Hermione was left holding the baby. Severus was seriously twitchy about leaving the laboratories unattended for nearly a whole day and went through the emergency call procedure three times with Winky. He also threatened to tell Licky that she was a slapper, if she didn't behave.

At twelve-thirty in the afternoon, Neville sauntered down the stairs and into the library where Remus, Snape, Hermione and baby Gideon were waiting. Neville set his jaw and donned his dark glasses. Hermione's eyes nearly popped out of her head. He looked like a professional bodyguard. His shoulder muscles bulged through his jacket, and with his permanently apologetic expression masked by his sunnies, he looked anything _but_ friendly. Snape's eyebrow performed some Olympic-level gymnastics before he lit the fire with his wand and chucked in some Floo powder.

'Dragon's Breath!' intoned Snape, and stepped into the flames.

When they'd all arrived at the wizarding pub next to the Tornado's Quidditch pitch, Remus went slightly ahead to check for unwanted distractions. Inevitably, he found Ron and Bill, and without too much trouble managed to shepherd them into a nearby shop in which Chudley Cannons merchandise was on sale. The others hurried past the danger and climbed a huge stone staircase at the home supporters' end of the ground. On the way into the corporate hospitality area, they passed an unusually inconspicuous, black-haired, black-robed Tonks, who winked at Hermione. Once they got past security (who eyed Neville cautiously and were terribly polite), they were safe.

Ginny and Draco were waiting for them in the Member's Bar. A few people were clearly avoiding Draco whilst speculating wildly as to the presence of Ginny Potter. Others were making their way over to say, 'hello,' and ask him what he was doing directly. Draco was devastatingly polite and utterly dismissive. Hermione could sense his exasperation with the sycophantic-but-posh types, in their club hats and traditional robes. She wondered if it was worth tracking down Rita Skeeter and getting another interview published in the _Quibbler_, or maybe a photo-shoot in _Witch Weekly_ in order to clean up Draco's image. Ginny noticed her evangelical expression and hurriedly began to chivvy everybody in the direction of their private box. Hermione handed a nonsense-gabbling Gideon over and muttered nice things like, "ate a lot" and, "changed him before we left". Severus looked almost avuncular.

In the box, they found Remus being kind and charming to a delighted Padma Patil and a very nervous Wayne Hopkins, who was startled to see Hermione. She smiled sympathetically and gestured to Draco for drinks. Wayne sniffed his Firewhisky suspiciously, then appreciatively, and gulped some.

'What are you doing here, Hermione? Are these chaps recruiting you as well?'

'No, they aren't recruiting me. I have a few things to say to Carmine Scrimgeour, though.'

'He's coming _here?_ Bloody hell! The apprentice will be on his own. He's given his notice – he's going back to Bulgaria to finish his training there. He won't be concentrating. I've _got_ to go!'

Wayne shot towards the exit and collided with the solid wall of Neville's chest. Draco gave Neville a lascivious smile and stooped to help Wayne up off the floor.

'Now listen, Mr Hopkins. This is precisely the sort of inappropriate situation we wish to avoid in the future. Just having you here makes the point convincingly. Stay until we've made it, then you can go back to work.'

Through a large, plate-glass windows, Hermione could see the crowded stands begin to seethe with activity. Fourteen brightly robed players emerged from the changing rooms below their box. The announcer could be heard introducing each of them, and Ginny scowled when Harry's cheer was quieter than Kirley Duke's. As the players circled the ground and hovered occasionally to sign autographs, a short, corpulent man with rheumy brown eyes, a shock of wavy white hair and a red-veined nose entered the room. He was followed closely by Tonks.

'Good afternoon, everybody. This is Mr Scrimgeour.'

Gideon gurgled happily from a conjured play-pen by the window. Wayne tried to hide behind Neville. Draco conjured a hefty tumbler of Firewhisky and stepped forwards.

'Good afternoon, Mr Scrimgeour. May I call you Carmine? We're delighted you could make it today – do have a drink.'

Scrimgeour took his glass and surveyed the room edgily. Something didn't feel right. He spotted Wayne, and then Snape and swallowed convulsively.

Ginny tore her gaze away from the scene outside. She tossed her hair and smiled warmly. Scrimgeour perked up noticeably.

'Hello, Mr Scrimgeour!'

'Carmine, please. I don't stand on ceremony, you know.'

'Well, Carmine. I understand that a mutual acquaintance of yours and my friend Hermione here is in the box next door. As the match is just starting, why don't you go and fetch Herbert Snodley, and we can watch together?'

Hermione smoothed her green dress, flicked her hair in a passable impression of Ginny and smiled sweetly. Scrimgeour's eyes gleamed. Quidditch, whisky and pretty young girls. Perhaps things were _quite right_ after all.

Ginny took Scrimgeour's arm and daintily led him out of the box. The rest of the Phoenix Feathers heaved nervous sighs and gulped their drinks. Padma, gauging correctly that there were things going on of which she was unaware, conjured a teddy bear and went over to introduce herself to Gideon. In the background, the Quidditch match began, and to incredulous murmurs from the crowd, the Chudley Cannons scored a goal in seconds. Neville stifled a cheer and then folded his arms and put on his best nightclub bouncer, "if your name's not down, you're not coming in," expression.

At the same moment, Ginny, Scrimgeour and the sexist-boss-from-hell arrived. The latter carefully avoided Neville's bulk, then performed an exemplary double-take when he saw Hermione. Strangely enough, his gaze became more appreciative as he took in the fact that she was no longer clad in lime-green scrubs.

Uttering the words, 'Just one drink, then. I can't stay long, you know!' Snodley allowed Ginny to draw him close to the window. He accepted a tumbler to match Scrimgeour's from Draco, with nary a glance away from Hermione's tits. Snape's eyes narrowed, menacingly.

As the group watched Harry failing to dodge Kirley Duke's sweetly struck Bludgers, Tonks surreptitiously cast a series of incantations on the door of the box. Hermione began to speak without taking her eyes away from the action beyond the window.

'It's lovely to see you again, Healer Snodley. How are things at the hospital?'

Snodley sipped his drink and leered nauseatingly.

'Oh, same as always. You don't have to be mad to work there, but it helps. We rather miss you, and your… attributes.'

'That's funny. I would have phrased it slightly differently. I might suggest that you don't have to be mad to be _treated_ there, but it helps.

Snodley's attention was no longer focussed on Hermione's attributes.

'Whatever can you mean, Healer Granger?'

'Well, I have it on good authority – nine eye-witness accounts, in fact – that rather a lot of easily avoidable mistakes have been made in the last few months. The strange thing is that all of the mistakes are to do with the potions prescribed, rather than the spells.'

'That's a very serious accusation, Healer Granger. Quite a slur on the hospital's reputation.'

'Oh no, Healer Snodley. It occurred to me that if the _hospital_ was directly responsible for negligence, then it would be highly unlikely that a decline in standards would be restricted to such a specific aspect of patient care.'

As the volume of chatter in the box died, the crowd outside roared with approval. A Tornados Chaser left the Cannons' Keeper for dead and scored effortlessly. Harry was violently barged by his celebrating opposite number and wobbled precariously for a moment before setting off again on his usual circuit of the pitch.

A moment later, Carmine Scrimgeour started violently as the tall, dark figure of a dress-robed Snape appeared silently at his shoulder. Severus' voice effortlessly carried over the babble of fifteen hundred enthusiastic Quidditch fans as the Tornados scored again.

'If _I_ were to discover a consistent problem with one particular aspect of medical treatment at St Mungo's, I would suspect that there might be an issue with the supplier of such treatments. In the case of counter-charms, for example, I would investigate those who cast them. In the case of medical potions, I would discuss the subject with those who manufacture them.'

Wayne flinched. Padma took his hand and squeezed it gently.

Snodley was a singularly unprepossessing example of humanity. His carefully placed comb-over did nothing to hide the flakiness of his scalp, along what remained of his hairline. His pinched expression was not enhanced by the presence of a thin moustache. His beady little eyes betrayed no warmth as he turned to face Carmine Scrimgeour. Draco silently refilled Scrimgeour's tumbler. The old man didn't notice. He instinctively downed the entire contents of the glass and held out his hand for another refill.

'Well, Carmine,' said Snodley, 'is there any reason why I should contact the supplier of the potions my Healers use?'

Scrimgeour's face reddened. His previously rosy nose purpled.

'Of course not, Herbert! I've been overseeing the production of potions for St Mungo's for forty bloody years! A qualified member of staff checks each brew before delivery. Absolutely nothing wrong with 'em.'

'I wonder if an independent review of St Mungo's patient files would verify that statement?' murmured Snape, seemingly to no-one in particular.

Herbert Snodley paled slightly. He frantically wracked his brain to try and identify what he'd ever done to piss off Severus Snape.

Remus eyed his glass, apparently lost in thought. 'So, Carmine, you seem to be implying that you have an appropriately qualified member of staff on duty at all times,' he said.

Scrimgeour scowled. 'What would a half-breed pauper know about the appropriate procedures at a potions company?'

Tonks nonchalantly pulled her wand from her sleeve and let its aim drift slowly from the floor to Scrimgeour's midriff and back again. 'In order to gain its status as a licensed manufacturer of medicinal products, Phoenix Feathers Ltd. was required to submit a full risk assessment to the Magical Equipment Control section of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. Mr Lupin, Mr Snape and Mr Malfoy co-authored said document, which received official Ministry approval, just over three years ago.'

Hermione watched in a detached manner as the two Cannons Beaters managed a spectacular mid-air collision, a Cannons Chaser got clobbered round the head by a stray Bludger and the Tornados scored again. Beside her, Herbert Snodley was quietly contemplating how to make himself look as good as possible in what was rapidly becoming a ruinous situation. He'd just discovered the potentially lethal power behind the mysterious Phoenix Feathers Ltd. _And_ an Auror was present. If he wasn't careful, he was fucked. If he was really unlucky, he was dead.

'If you don't mind me asking, who have you got working today, Mr Scrimgeour?' enquired Snape.

Scrimgeour muttered into his tumbler. The words, 'bloody', 'impertinence', 'respected' and, 'lanky shit' were clearly audible.

Wayne Hopkins cleared his throat nervously. 'A-a-as it was officially my day off, I'm afraid I didn't check to see whether Mr Scrimgeour was supervising the lab today. There is an apprentice with one year's training on duty. I'm not sure if he knows where we are, but I hope he would try to contact us in the case of an emergency.'

Snodley exploded.

'Do you mean to say that a fucking, quarter-trained _apprentice_ is the _only_ person available at short notice to brew potions for the hospital?'

Scrimgeour gulped the dregs of his Firewhisky. His shaking hand caused the glass to rattle against his teeth. Hermione felt a twinge of pity for the old man. She raised her eyebrows imploringly at Ginny, who promptly went and fetched Gideon, retrieving a glossy brochure from beneath his play-pen at the same time. As she handed the booklet to Snodley, the baby leaned over her shoulder, smeared sticky hand-prints over any bit of window he could reach and chanted, 'Da-da-da-da!'

Snodley managed to plaster an apologetic grimace onto his face. 'I apologise for my language in front of the little one, Mrs Potter.'

'That's all right, Herbert. Why don't you have a little look at our company brochure while we have a chat with Carmine?'

She gestured at Snape. With a flick of his wand, he conjured a reasonable approximation of an armchair. Remus did the same. His chair was smarter.

Draco smirked, settled Scrimgeour into Snape's effort and sat opposite. He pulled a folded piece of parchment out of the inside pocket of his linen jacket and began to talk in a low tone about retirement and the joys of exploring the vineyards of the Loire Valley. After a moment, Ginny went to listen.

Snape walked over to Wayne and shook his hand, quietly saying, 'I think you've done all you can. If you'd like to check up on your laboratory, one of us will see Miss Patil safely home. We'll be in touch tomorrow.'

Wayne smiled gratefully, remembered who he was smiling at and scuttled away to take his leave of Padma.

Snape walked back to the window and stood behind Hermione, who was watching Snodley flick through the Phoenix Feathers' blurb. Hermione shifted backwards a little bit and put one hand behind her back. She felt Severus take it, immediately. He rubbed his thumb over her knuckles, and Hermione's heart soared as her internal Sesame Street Count chuckled happily, displaying his pointy teeth. She glanced at Remus and Tonks, who were standing near the door, smiling at each other idiotically. She shifted her gaze again to Neville, who was watching the Quidditch avidly.

'I assume you'd like me to set up a meeting with the appropriate people,' sighed Snodley, eying Severus with cautious resignation.

'I think that would be for the best, don't you?' replied Snape. 'If you'd like to have a word with Mrs Potter, she'll sort out the details for you. We do, however, have a few stipulations regarding confidentiality. If you can see your way to assisting in the process, I'm sure we can make it worth your while. Otherwise, we might have to handle things… differently.'

Snape's eyes left Snodley's and focussed on something over the shorter man's left shoulder.

Snodley raised his eyebrows and turned to see what Snape was looking at. Neville practically had his nose touching the window. He was mumbling to himself. He raised his arms and placed his hands against the glass, shouting fiercely, 'Come the fuck _on,_ Harry!'

Snodley shuddered and backed away towards Ginny. She ignored him completely as she gawped at the scene before her. At the last moment, Neville, Snape and Hermione jumped away from the glass. With a tremendous _**THUD!**_ Harry Potter flew into the window – just like a fledgling sparrow on a sunny day. He landed in a heap of robe and broomstick on the little balcony outside. His glasses were broken, and he was out cold.

Hermione let out a horrified gasp and immediately tried to open the window. Ginny rushed to her side and gripped her forearm firmly. 'No, no! Don't panic. It's all okay. He's got the Snitch. _See?_'

Snape snorted with delighted laughter at Ginny's reaction. For the first time in his life, he was happy that a Potter had won a game of Quidditch.

Hermione rested her head against the cool glass, closed her eyes and vowed never to set foot inside a Quidditch ground again.

* * *

Harry came round – after a double-dose of Rennervate. Ginny, Gideon, Remus and Tonks took him off to visit the Mediwizard. Draco left with a half-cut but relatively cheerful Carmine Scrimgeour. Snodley assured Snape that confidentiality wouldn't be an issue, made his excuses and went back to the box next door. Neville gallantly offered to escort Padma home. Eventually, Hermione and Severus were left standing by the window alone.

'Well, that went as well as could be expected,' said Hermione. 'With the _added_ bonus that Harry might think twice about meddling in future.'

'It was as smooth as the skin on your delectable bottom,' replied Snape. 'I'm rather impressed. Although, I'll hex the fuck out of Herbert Snodley if he so much as glances in the direction of your cleavage again!'

'I'm perfectly happy to leave all contact with him to Ginny. You can see why I was so desperate to get away from St Mungo's.'

Snape stared absently at the distant goal-posts. 'Is that the only reason you took a job in Wales?'

Hermione fixed her attention on the last remaining stragglers, who were making their way out of the stands. She watched two tall, red-headed men disappear down the away supporters' staircase, and with a sigh of relief, turned to face the man standing before her.

'Not entirely,' she said.

Hermione took one of Severus' hands between both of hers and gazed at it intently. In return, he lifted his free hand and stroked her cheek with his thumb.

'If we don't move quickly, I'm going to say something terribly soppy,' said Severus. 'Shall we go home?'

'Mmmmm. You can tell me all about what you'd say while we have a cuddle on my sofa.'

As they walked out, Severus remembered to open the door and let Hermione go first. They passed through security with little delay and began to descend the stone steps.

Hermione was floating on air. She looked over her shoulder to smile adoringly at Snape. In the process, she bumped straight into a tall, blonde woman.

'Oh, I'm terribly sorry!' she exclaimed.

'Not to worry. I'm a bit of a slow-coach because of my damned leg!' replied the woman.

'Well, I'm a Healer. Can I help at all? How did you get hurt?'

'Quidditch injury. Got called up from Holyhead to train with the England squad and had a prang at the first session. The team medic says it's my hamstring, and the coach told me to rest it.'

Hermione winced sympathetically. 'There's a new tendon-knitting charm that's been tested at St Mungo's for a few months. Would you like me to try it?'

'Frankly, love, I'd try anything to get back into the national squad.'

Snape's lips quirked. He couldn't quite prevent his appreciative grin. He leant against the stone parapet, folded his arms and crossed his legs. His dark eyes absorbed every detail as Hermione bent over and carefully ran her hands down the slim, trouser-clad thigh of Britain's best female Quidditch player.

As Hermione located the source of discomfort, the woman sucked in a hiss of breath. Truth be told, so did Severus.

Hermione aimed her wand, sang a short incantation and watched a gentle blue light float over the injury for a few seconds before dispersing. The woman bent her knee and then stretched her leg, a delighted smile crossing her face.

'That's fucking fantastic! How come our medic doesn't use it?'

'Well, it's only on trial at the moment, you see.'

'What can I give you? Tickets for a match next season?'

Hermione's eyes met Severus'. Legilimency was not required.

'It's funny you should ask, actually…'

Author's notes:

1. In a review, LillethJ made Remus' point that a happy Snape is a scary Snape.

2. I've modelled the Quidditch ground partly on a British county cricket ground, with a section for Members (who pay an annual subscription, wear blazers and county ties and have their own area to sit, eat and drink), and partly on a football stadium (with an end for the home supporters and an end for the away supporters). Both types of sporting venue have a number of corporate hospitality boxes built into the stands. I believe that American Football stadiums have similar facilities.

3. The Magical Equipment Control section of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement is canon (see HP Lexicon for details).

4. That's all from the owners of Phoenix Feathers Ltd. With this tall tale, I had three main aims: firstly, I wanted to see if I could write something that would make people laugh. It seems I have succeeded – I am as jubilant as an arse-groping Snape. Secondly, I wanted to see if I could parody the hatchet jobs that have been committed on poor old Ron Weasley. In this story, he says three words, _none_ of which are to Hermione, and we only ever hear her side of things. Reviewers have still demanded his head on a platter. Thirdly, I wanted to write a plot driven by the consumption of tasty food and alcoholic beverages. However, if you look carefully, you'll find that no female character does any cooking, not even making tea or coffee. Thank you all for reading.


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